Lion's Lair
by Silbrith
Summary: Neal and his friends travel to Lyon to unravel the secret of the armillary sphere. Arkham Files story #5, a blend of White Collar and the world of the Cthulhu Mythos. Characters include Neal, Peter, Elizabeth, Mozzie, Diana, June, and Sara.
1. Thief in the Night

_This story begins three days after the conclusion of the fourth Arkham Files story, Cinereous Skies. The first chapter includes a short recap for new readers. I've also written a status update on the main characters for the blog I co-write with Penna: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation. The post is called "Vault Acquisition: Lion's Lair."  
_

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Thief in the Night**

 **Arkham, Massachusetts. Friday, November 21, 1975.**

Neal's breath came out in a strangled gasp as he was slammed flat on his back. For a moment, the walls of the Miskatonic University gym spun lazily around him as the barbells on the wall mounts engaged in a slow, jerky dance.

Sara's head popped into view over his head, an annoying smile on her face. "Oops. I didn't realize you'd be such an easy mark." She held out a hand to help him up.

He clasped her hand, faking pants as if he were out of breath. "Sure you did," he wheezed. "This is what . . . the third time? You made your point. I'm as bad at self-defense . . . as you are . . . at singing." He rubbed his side with his left hand and grimaced.

Her smug look was immediately replaced by concern as she leaned closer. "Did I hurt you?"

Once her eyes were focused on his side, he yanked her onto the mat with a loud and eminently satisfying _ker-plunk_.

Sara glared at him indignantly. "That's cheating!"

She started it. How was he supposed to focus on judo when she wore that tight tank top and leggings? When Sara offered to give him a lesson, he'd expected her to show up in baggy trousers and a kimono jacket. When he teased her about the outfit, she excused it as being required attire for a fake girlfriend.

Because, of course, there was no place more romantic than the university gym for a fake date. On a Friday evening, they had the wrestling room to themselves. All they needed were candles, a bottle of wine, and a few less throws. Sara could also lay off the fake date references.

Knowing that it was his fault only served to increase Neal's frustration. He'd willingly agreed to her offer to be his fake girlfriend. Now she was settled so comfortably in the role, he doubted he'd ever be able to convince her to view him differently.

If he viewed it in a rational manner, Sara's strategy was the correct one. Like Peter, Elizabeth, and Mozzie, she'd volunteered to help him confront the threat of a hostile alien species. This was hardly the moment to pursue a romantic relationship. _So stop tormenting me with tank tops._

When Sara offered to coach him, learning a few self-defense moves sounded like a good idea. She'd been studying martial arts since she was a freshman at college. For the past month, she'd been taking advanced classes along with Detective Diana Briscoe of the Arkham Police Department.

Neal had never studied any kind of wrestling or self-defense, and after two months of unplanned adventures, he was clearly past due. But it was also plain he wouldn't be an overnight wonder.

"You've forgotten what it's like to be a beginner," he pointed out. "You should go easier on me."

"Is that what you'll tell some thug from the Starry Wisdom cult when he grabs you on the street?" She slapped her forehead with her hand. "What was I thinking? I bet you're right! I'm sure he'll let you off the hook when he hears you're a novice. You can tell him to come back next year."

Sara raised a sensitive subject. Chad Lawson, a bully Neal knew from his childhood and who was now a cult member, had mugged him a few weeks ago. "The cult's no longer active in Arkham. After the police raid, there's been no sign of resurgence."

"But you don't know what the situation is like in Lyon. Hoodlums could be on every street corner." Sara sat next to him, crossing her legs. "With only a few days to prepare, we don't have the luxury of going slow. Honestly, you're not _quite_ as horrible as you think you are."

Neal didn't feel like debating the degree of his ineptitude. "Did you have any trouble getting time off from the newspaper?"

She shook her head. "I simply told my boss the truth. We need to go to France because a space alien had written a message onto an armillary sphere once owned by the Renaissance scientist Heinrich Agrippa. When I explained that you were carrying the DNA of two alien species and that the world-famous archaeologist Peter Gilman and noted astrophysicist Dante Atwood were joining the effort, Larry immediately agreed that my presence was essential."

Neal restrained his joshing with difficulty until she'd finished. "What did you actually say?" They were scheduled to be gone over the Thanksgiving weekend. Sara was a rookie journalist with the least amount of seniority at the paper. Since she'd already used up her vacation days, the odds of her being able to go along had initially seemed slim to none.

"I didn't even have to ask. Gideon had already contacted Larry. He explained that he was funding a series of archaeological expeditions and he'd like me to be present to document the discoveries. When Larry heard that Gideon would pay all my expenses and that the _Arkham Gazette_ would have first rights to publish any discoveries, how could he refuse?"

"And I assume you didn't mention that Gideon Talmadge, renowned global financier and Miskatonic University benefactor, is actually an extraterrestrial?"

"That didn't seem wise," she admitted, breaking into a smile.

"Good thinking."

She rose to her feet. "Break time over. By the end of the evening, I want you to be able to toss me as easily onto the mat as I can you. Don't think of me as Sara Pabodie, your fake girlfriend and private investigator. Picture me as Chad Lawson."

Neal's emotions must have projected onto his face for she quickly added, "I know you don't like thinking about him. I don't either, but he's still out there. The Starry Wisdom cult may have marked you with one gigantic bullseye."

During the remainder of the lesson, Sara concentrated on defensive postures and basic footwork. He particularly appreciated learning how to fall correctly. Neal sensed he'd be doing a lot of that. At the conclusion, Sara pronounced herself satisfied with his progress. To his eyes, he hadn't advanced much. It was plain that having alien DNA didn't bestow any talent toward being a ninja warrior.

When he returned to his loft in June's house, Neal had a difficult time focusing on the stack of student assignments he should be correcting. Sara would come over on Sunday for her first music lesson. He and June had schemed to combine it with a cooking lesson. They'd originally decided on something simple. But after the shellacking he'd received this evening, it would only be fair to reciprocate with something equally challenging. Beef Wellington could be entertaining.

And, as long as he was on the subject of being fair and objective, he should stop bemoaning Sara's lack of interest in him. How could she possibly view him as a potential dating prospect after hearing he'd been genetically modified with unknown repercussions? Neal had been bred with one goal in mind—to help protect Earth from the Ymar. His fate was now irrevocably linked to a friendly species whose representatives had been working in Arkham since he was a child. Perhaps that was what made Sara so appealing. She represented the safe world that was no longer his. That was hardly a valid reason to involve her in his uncertain future.

Neal picked up his red pencil and resumed reading his students' attempts to translate a passage from Beowulf. They'd been campaigning for him to teach a seminar exclusively on the epic poem. He'd already spoken with Marjorie Whipple, his department head about it. He hoped he'd be around to give it. But the upcoming term, like everything else in his life, was up in the air at the moment.

It was late by the time Neal called it quits for the night. The next day, he'd meet Peter for an early morning run along the Miskatonic River if it wasn't snowing. The sky was already overcast. There'd be no stargazing for Mozzie tonight.

. . .

 _"Yeoooowl!"_

As Neal struggled to open his eyes, cold furry paws landed on his chest and a rough tongue began scraping his chin. There was enough light coming in from the skylight over his bed to recognize Betelgeuse. He and Mozzie's tabby were old friends, but the cat had never visited him at the loft. Betelgeuse paused to let out another mournful yowl.

"What's wrong, fella? Did you get locked out of Mozzie's place?" Neal glanced around the loft as he stroked the tabby. The cat's fur was cold from being outside. The patio door was ajar. He must have left it unlocked and Betelgeuse somehow managed to pry it open. Mozzie had a suite on the top floor of the science building at the university. Normally, the tabby was only outdoors when he joined Mozzie on the roof for stargazing sessions.

"Enough, I'm awake." Neal's initial grogginess had been washed away by the bath he'd received from Betelgeuse's tongue. The cat stared at him expectantly, swishing his tail impatiently. Suddenly an image popped into Neal's mind of Mozzie lying face down on the floor of his office. A second later it was gone.

Neal sat up, stunned. Was that a vision or his subconscious trying to figure out the puzzle he'd been handed?

Betelgeuse cocked his head and growled.

"What are you trying to tell me?" On Merope, there'd been telepathic animals. Had Betelgeuse sent him the image? If so, it was a one-shot occurrence. The tabby rubbed against him but there were no more images.

Neal flung off the covers and headed for the phone. Mozzie worked at night. He was probably still awake even though it was two in the morning. After learning that all was well, Neal could go back to sleep and return Betelgeuse later in the morning.

But any lingering sleepiness vanished when Mozzie didn't answer. Neal's stomach clenched into a hard knot. Mozzie couldn't be on the roof, not with the storm clouds overhead. It might be a false alarm, but Neal didn't want to take the risk. He pulled out the university directory for the phone number of the campus police.

Betelgeuse paced the floor, flicking his tail nervously, while he spoke with the security dispatcher. It took several minutes to convince her that he wasn't a student playing a prank and that Professor Atwood could have suffered an accident.

After extracting her promise to send an officer to check, Neal threw on a pair of jeans, grabbed Betelgeuse, and darted downstairs. He didn't attempt to awaken June but borrowed the keys to her Chevy for the drive to the campus.

By the time he arrived at the Derleth Hall of Science, an ambulance with flashing lights was parked outside the building. He raced up the five flights of stairs with Betelgeuse galloping beside him. When he arrived at the suite, the door was open. He could see Mozzie being strapped onto a gurney.

A campus guard stopped him at the doorway, demanding identification.

Neal introduced himself and fished out his wallet to show him his ID. "I was the one who called security. How is Professor Atwood?"

One of the emergency techs, a young stocky woman with short black hair, looked over at him. "He's still unconscious. He has quite a bump on the back of his head. At a minimum, he sustained a concussion."

"How did you know to call us?" the guard asked.

"His cat woke me up in my apartment. I was concerned something might be wrong." The guard eyed him skeptically but luckily didn't press. Neal swiftly changed the subject. "Any signs of a break-in?"

"None. The door was locked when we arrived. I used a security key to enter."

"You better check the roof. Mozzie often leaves the door at the top of the spiral staircase unlocked."

"We'll do that," the guard assured him, "but more likely he simply fell and hit his head. With the amount of stuff he has crammed into his office, it would be easy to trip on something. That blackboard, for instance, is an accident waiting to happen." He nodded toward a board on wheels which was covered with equations.

Neal scanned the room and his heart began to hammer. "Someone was here." Despite the seeming amount of clutter, Mozzie had developed a system to deal with the chaos. To the guard, it might look like the typical untidy office of a scatterbrained professor, but to Neal, it was clear there had been a struggle. Books had been knocked off his desk. Papers were scattered on the floor.

The most compelling bit of evidence was what wasn't there—the armillary sphere. Mozzie always kept it on a shelf behind his desk and now it was gone. Had he been attacked by a ghast? One had made an earlier attempt to steal it.

Neal fought the encroaching panic. If a ghast had been here, Mozzie would likely have visible wounds. A couple of days ago, they'd discussed moving the sphere to the library vault for safekeeping. Perhaps Mozzie had gone ahead and simply neglected to tell him.

If not, they were all in serious trouble.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Sit down," Diana ordered, pointing to the chair. "I can't question someone in perpetual motion."

"El will call us as soon as he's ready for visitors," Peter added, giving a gentle nudge of his own. "She's pleased with the test results. Mozzie's going to make a quick recovery."

Neal gave in, taking a seat next to the desk. El had supplied them with one of the staff's consultation rooms for their use, and he'd paced every inch of it. Peter's wife was Neal's doctor and a neurologist at the center. He knew Mozzie couldn't be in better hands, but at the moment it was hard to be reassured.

He'd accompanied Mozzie in the ambulance, leaving it to the security guard to contact the police. El took over Mozzie's case once she and Peter arrived at the hospital.

Diana had stopped at the science building before showing up. The apartment was being examined for forensic evidence. There was no sign of anything amiss on the roof. The science building wasn't locked at night and there was no guard. The assailant could have simply exited by the front door.

Diana shoved Neal's cup of lukewarm coffee toward him. "Drink," she ordered, "and stay focused. Worrying about Professor Atwood won't help him and you'll be hindering our investigation." She glanced down at her notepad. "You were telling me about the armillary sphere that was taken . . . Is this the same one that the ghast tried to steal from the Nautical Shop two months ago?"

Neal nodded. "Mozzie purchased it as soon as he found out about the ghast's interest." Neal had called Lavinia early in the morning, and she confirmed his fear. Mozzie hadn't placed the instrument in the vault. The obvious conclusion was that the assailant had stolen it.

"Back in September, you had a premonition—a vision— that the theft would occur." Diana frowned for a moment, tapping her pen absently on her notepad. "I put you through the wringer about those visions you were having. First the murder at the rare bookshop, then the attempted burglary at the Nautical Shop . . . Did you have any kind of warning this time?"

"No."

"Then how did you know Professor Atwood was in trouble? And don't tell me it was because his cat came to see you."

"But that's what happened," Neal protested impatiently. "Betelgeuse woke me up. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have known anything was wrong. It's not like I was dreaming about Mozzie." He left it at that. Not an untruth. Diane's frustration echoed his own. Why hadn't he sensed anything earlier? He might have been able to prevent the crime.

"We'll leave that for now," she said in a quieter tone. "Peter, do you have any theories about why a thief would only snatch that one item when Professor Atwood's office contains many other valuable antique instruments?"

"We believe it's because the Starry Wisdom cult is interested in it. Mozzie discovered that the instrument was owned by Heinrich Agrippa when he lived in Lyon, France. This was in the early fifteen hundreds. In addition, the armillary sphere was inscribed with a coded message referencing Lyon."

Peter's description was carefully constructed to not contain any lies. He omitted the bits that were privileged, such as their belief that an extraterrestrial from the planet Celaeno had visited Agrippa and inscribed the riddle on the armillary sphere.

"What does the message say?" she asked.

Neal quoted the lines for her. "Seek the answers to your questions in Lyon. Go to the lion's lair on the hill that prays and place your hand on the tuft of his tail. The serpent flies overhead." He repeated them slowly so she could write them down.

"Do you know which questions the message is referring to? Or what the significance of the lion and serpent is?"

"No," Neal admitted. "We were planning to travel to Lyon on Wednesday. We hope to find out why the cult is interested in it."

"Perhaps they consider it a holy object," Diana suggested. "The message could be a prophecy. You said a code was used. Is it related to the script on the starfish artifacts we discovered at crime scenes?"

"No, it's a different language," Neal said, hoping she wouldn't quiz him more about the starfish. It was a source of frustration that despite his progress in decrypting other languages, he still hadn't succeeded in deciphering the symbols.

Diana's lips tightened into a frown. "We could be facing the start of another crime wave. Eight days ago the cult abducted you two. Now this burglary. Starfish could start reappearing. I'll alert patrols to be on the lookout for them."

Neal didn't attempt to correct her. The police believed that cult members had kidnapped him and Peter. That was much easier to accept than the truth—that they'd been sucked into a wormhole which ejected them onto the distant planet of Merope.

"Fortunately, there have been no reports of zoogs or those other weird creatures you've seen," she added. "Have you detected any ghasts?"

"None," Peter assured her. "This is the first incident since our abduction."

The door opened and El walked in. She was wearing a lab coat over her bell-bottoms. "Mozzie's awake and asking for you," she said, smiling at Neal. "He's recovering well. There's no cerebral edema. I don't expect any complications."

Neal let out an audible sigh of relief at the good news. When they regrouped in his room, Mozzie offered quick confirmation. His bed had been elevated and he gave Neal a cheerful smile when he approached his bedside. His eyes particularly lit up when he spotted Diana. "Have you caught the scoundrel?" he asked eagerly.

"Not yet. Did you see who he was?"

"Chad Lawson. I was working at the blackboard when I heard someone on the stairs leading to the roof. I whipped out my slide rule to defend myself but he got the best of me."

Chad. Why hadn't he thought of him earlier? Chad had been one of the cult members who kidnapped Sara in late October but had managed to escape arrest. He'd served as assistant to the so-called priest of the cult in Arkham. By now he could have become the head of another branch.

"We haven't had any reports of Lawson since he fled after the raid," Diana said, frowning. "We'd assumed he'd caught a freighter for Europe, but no sightings have come in from Interpol. We'll start a search."

When Diana left to phone in the news from the nurses' station, Neal wondered if they shouldn't also depart. "Mozzie, are you sure you feel up to our questions?"

"Of course. I only have a slight headache, and that can be easily vanquished."

"We'll keep him overnight for observation," El said, "but he should be able to go home tomorrow."

"I take it Betelgeuse wasn't hurt?" Mozzie asked, glancing up at Neal.

"He's fine. When I called Cyrus with an update, he was rewarding Betelgeuse with mackerel for his heroic efforts on your behalf." One of the tabby's favorite haunts was the chemistry lab and Cyrus had promised to take care of him till Mozzie returned. "Betelgeuse was the one who alerted me that something was wrong."

"He's a highly intelligent animal," Mozzie said complacently. "I'm sure all those years of accompanying me at my work have added to his brilliance." He grimaced. "Chad probably made a mess of my office. Was anything taken?"

Neal hesitated, slanting Peter a glance. There was no need to distress him immediately. The news could easily wait till he was released.

"Neal?" Mozzie raised his voice in the same tone he used when Neal was a boy and had miscalculated an equation. "What happened? It wasn't . . .?" He clapped a hand over his mouth in dismay. "Not the armillary sphere?"

"I'm afraid so," Neal admitted

His face went white. "This is a catastrophe of the highest magnitude!"

"Not as important as your health," El admonished, placing a hand on his forehead. "We'll get it back. Now, relax or I'll shoo everyone out."

"Once Gideon returns, we should be able to trace it," Peter added. "He'd placed a marker on the instrument during his last visit for just this sort of eventuality."

"That may help if it's on Earth," Mozzie moaned. "What if Chad gave it to a ghast who returned it to Azathoth?"

There wasn't any way to whitewash the calamity. Gideon suspected the Celaenians had designed the instrument to have hidden capabilities. The rings were inscribed with fractal equations, but so far they'd only been able to speculate on how they were meant to be used.

"It's my fault," moaned Mozzie. "I'd planned to take the sphere to Lavinia before we left for Lyon." He slapped the right side of his chest, his eyes widening. "The letter! Did Chad take it as well?"

"Where was it?" Neal asked uneasily.

"I was wearing a tan plaid flannel shirt. It was in the pocket."

"Your clothes are in the closet. I went through them when we arrived at the hospital and didn't find a letter but I'll look again."

"It was an international aerogram. You can't mistake the blue paper."

"Who was it from?" Peter asked while Neal searched.

"Philippe Vannier in Lyon. He had important news about Agrippa."

"Are you sure it was in your pocket?" Neal asked. There was nothing in the shirt pocket. He also checked Mozzie's trousers one more time.

"It may have fallen out during the struggle," El suggested.

Peter offered to search the office, but Neal was sure he would have seen it if it had been lying on the floor.

"It's not a problem for us," Mozzie said, a slight scowl crossing his face. "I have perfect recall, but I'd hate to think the cult has it now."

"What did the letter say?" Neal asked, uneasy over what additional information the cult might have acquired.

"Philippe had found a manuscript at the Lyon Historic Archives. It's unsigned, but he believes it was written by Agrippa. Because of its content, it had been classified a work by an unknown mystic."

"Could he read it?"

Mozzie nodded, closed his eyes, and began speaking in Latin.

"Peter and Elizabeth may prefer the English version," Neal murmured.

Mozzie uttered a low rumble but acquiesced. "I have been visited by an angel. He declines to call himself that, but who else could change his appearance from one to another? With his finger, he traced an intricate pattern on the rings of the celestial sphere but I can see nothing."

"That must be the Celaenian who left the message!" El exclaimed.

"We know the species is capable of shapeshifting," Peter added. "That manuscript could be the first reference to Celaenians on Earth." He turned to Mozzie. "I assume Philippe's address was on the envelope."

Mozzie nodded. "Philippe wrote in French. I find it hard to believe Chad has knowledge of either the language of Lucretius or Voltaire, but it wouldn't be difficult to find some impoverished student willing to translate it for him. Philippe also said he'd found a fragment of a manuscript at an antique store which he believes was written by Agrippa."

"Did he explain what its content was?"

"No, but he purchased it and intends to prepare a translation."

When Diana returned to the room, Peter told her about Vannier. "He could be the next target."

"I'll alert Interpol," she promised. "They'll notify the local authorities." She turned to Neal. "I assume Chad hasn't tried to contact you?"

"No, and I haven't been aware of anyone stalking me."

She studied him a moment, her lips tightening. "Since the cult has the armillary sphere, they may leave you and Peter alone, but I wouldn't count on it. Both of you need to be on your guard. Don't walk alone at night. I'm particularly concerned about you, Neal. Chad has had a grudge against you since you were children. After the raid on the cult, his animosity has likely increased tenfold. Your landlady could also be in danger."

"Neal could stay with us," Peter suggested.

"That will help," she agreed. "I'll request extra patrols at night. The police units won't have to divide their coverage between two houses."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"I appreciate the offer, Peter, but it's really not necessary," Neal said. They'd moved into the hallway. Once Diana departed, El evicted them from Mozzie's room so her patient could rest.

"Does June have a guard dog?"

"No, but—"

"—or a gun? In light of what happened, extra precaution is warranted." Peter hesitated, his expression growing more serious. "This is not _just_ for your sake. I've been having nightmares about Merope . . . about what you looked like after Sornoth attacked you in the cell. The wounds have disappeared, but in my mind I still see them. I'd rest easier having you close by. I'm willing to wager your nights aren't entirely peaceful either."

Neal didn't attempt to deny it. The bright lights and constant activity of the hospital were a universe away from the dark tunnels of the fortress of H'nir where the ghasts had abducted him but even here the saber-toothed leopard stalked his thoughts in unguarded moments. It had only been a week since the ordeal on Merope. It was small consolation that lingering nightmares were inevitable. He hadn't realized that Peter was also troubled by them.

"El won't let us back in to see Mozzie for a while. We have time to go by your place and pack a suitcase."

"I'd like to see Lavinia first."

"I thought she already knew."

"She does, but I wasn't completely forthcoming with Diana. When Betelgeuse woke me up, an image of Mozzie flashed into my head. It made me wonder if the cat had put it there."

He knew Peter wouldn't laugh at his words, not after they'd experienced telepathy on Merope. Their perception of what was possible had radically changed since they'd been abducted to that distant planet. They now knew that Lavinia, the redoubtable head librarian of Miskatonic University, was a shapeshifter from that world. Both she and her fellow Meropian Gideon Talmadge had been working secretly on Earth for decades to help safeguard Earth from incursions by the Ymar.

When Neal was held prisoner he'd been able to communicate telepathically with a small lemur-type species. Was the vision he'd had of Mozzie something similar? Lavinia should know. He hadn't mentioned it to her over the phone because this was one conversation he wanted to have in person. And she wasn't the only one he wanted to consult.

Lavinia's apartment was in one of the turrets of the university library. She shared her home with two chittaks who nested in the exposed rafters above her office. Resembling Earth's bushbabies, they were native to Merope. Lavinia was able to communicate with them. Did she have the same ability with Betelgeuse?

The library was a short walk from the medical center which was also on campus. The cold November air revived Neal better than the hospital coffee.

"Nothing about Lavinia would surprise me anymore," Peter confessed as he opened the front door to the library. "Even communicating with Mozzie's cat seems a reasonable hypothesis."

When Lavinia greeted them at the door to her suite, the chittaks made their presence known immediately. Ch'orri, a male, had an emerald mask which covered his eyes. His mate Ch'uli lacked the mask, but as if to compensate, the emerald spots on her silver fur were more numerous.

"I wasn't expecting you," she said. "Has Mozzie's condition worsened?"

"No, he continues to improve," Peter said, stroking Ch'orri who'd leaped upon his shoulder as soon as he entered the room. "He's lucky he wasn't injured more seriously."

Neal disentangled Ch'uli from his chest and plopped her comfortably in the crook of his arm. "El expects Mozzie can go home tomorrow. He claims he feels well enough now." The dim surroundings of the librarian's office, with its tapestry-covered oak table, bookcases filled with history books and antique astronomical devices, used to be a forbidding place—just like Lavinia—but no longer.

She'd been drinking tea. She poured two cups for them from the earthenware pot on the table. Her brew had a floral fragrance he now associated with the rainforests on Merope. "Why did you come to see me?" she asked.

Neal explained what had happened with Betelgeuse. "Is it possible that he planted the image in my head?"

"It's quite likely," she agreed calmly as if that wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

"Did you have anything to do with it?" Peter asked. "We've speculated there might be a connection between you and the tabby. My understanding is that when Betelgeuse was a young kitten you gave him to Mozzie."

A sardonic smile flitted across her face. "You think he's my familiar?" She was quite aware of the reputation she had on campus of being a witch. Many students liked to scare incoming freshmen with spooky tales about the intimidating woman who lived in the library turret.

Peter continued to stroke Ch'orri. "Well, no, Lavinia, not quite that, but since you brought it up, is he?"

"Not in the traditional sense, but I enlisted his help to be an extra set of eyes and ears. Neal, you were a freshman. You often went to Mozzie's office to study. At that time, the wormhole in Arkham hadn't reopened, and there was no particular threat. It was purely a precautionary measure. Betelgeuse knows he can transfer visuals to me. It's a mark of your progress that the tabby sought you out instead." She gave an unexpectedly sneaky smile. "As long as I'm confessing, I might as well include Satchmo."

Peter's eyes widened. "What did you do to my Lab?"

She shrugged. "Nothing much. My primary concern was about ghasts. When zoogs appeared in Arkham, I added them to his watch list. Satchmo already considered you and El to be members of his pack. I made sure he included Neal, too. As for Betelgeuse, Mozzie and Neal have been members of his pride since he was a kitten. I recently added Cyrus. The animals are both very protective. They're aware that ghasts and zoogs are dangerous predators. They now can transfer images of what they see to those who have the ability to perceive them."

"Will I ever be able to see their messages?" Peter asked.

"Perhaps one day as the algolnium within you continues to strengthen." She turned to Neal. "Betelgeuse was telegraphing you that image because of extreme distress. It's a similar situation to when you were able to broadcast your thoughts to Peter on Merope. Under normal circumstances you're not able to communicate. You'd require much training before you'll be able to consciously project your thoughts."

"But in theory I could?" Neal asked.

She hesitated for a moment. "It's possible. We really don't know what you're capable of. Your father had shapeshifted into human form when he mated with your mother. It's unclear how many of our abilities you'll eventually master."

Neal was all too familiar with the need to be patient. After his return from Merope, he'd hoped to be able to communicate with the chittaks, but so far there was no evidence of it.

"Can dogs and cats see ghasts?" Peter asked.

She nodded. "I'd explained to your wife that each individual has a unique magnetic resonance. You may prefer to think of it as a harmony. An individual's distinctive pattern overlays the harmony created by each species. The resonance patterns of certain extraterrestrial species, such as ghasts and chittaks, are out of phase with those of humans. That's why they appear invisible."

"And it's algolnium which allows us to see them?" Neal asked.

"That's right. The element modifies your ability to perceive other phases. In comparison with humans, dogs and cats are born with an enhanced ability even though they don't possess any algolnium in their chemical makeup. Betelgeuse and Satchmo can also see chittaks," she added nonchalantly. "They may have spotted them near your homes. The chittaks have been curious about you two."

Peter tickled the fur under Ch'orri's chin. "It's only been since I returned from Merope that I've been able to see you, my friend. Now I find out you've been dropping in on me. Next time, be sure to let me know."

"Oreos," Neal blurted out.

Peter shot a bewildered glance at him as Lavinia chuckled.

"I saw a plate of Oreo cookies in my mind. Was that from Ch'uli?"

"More likely Ch'orri. He's addicted to them. You see, your telepathic skills _are_ improving." She waggled a finger at the Oreo-lover. "Were you trying to suggest that you can be bribed?"

"Message received," Neal said. "I'll add them to the grocery list."

Peter smiled absently and turned to Lavinia. "I'll accept that Neal's image of Mozzie was a message from Betelgeuse, but that doesn't explain his other visions."

"Did you plant the vision I had of my friend being killed in the rare bookstore?" Neal asked, picking up on Peter's concern. "Or of the armillary sphere being stolen in the Nautical Shop?"

She made a low rumbling sound in her throat. "Gideon and I have discussed those at length. Neither one of us had anything to do with them."

"What does that imply?" Peter asked. "Is Neal psychic?"

"We don't believe so. It's more likely the Celaenians are involved with it." She turned to Neal. "You're now linked to them through your DNA. Although they exist as pure sentient energy, that doesn't prevent them from being on Earth." She shrugged. "They could be in this room with us. Although we have no ability to communicate or test the theory, Gideon and I suspect they planted those visions." Before Neal could ask her more about it, she changed the subject. "You should take precautions. The attack on Mozzie could be a signal of worse things to come."

Lavinia had already told Neal of her concern that Sornoth had damaged him in some way during the attack. The leopard's saliva might have carried a chemical which was now acting as a tracer. Another equally grim possibility was that he'd been infected with a slow-acting poison. Neal didn't voice his fear that the attack on Mozzie was somehow tied to the events on Merope. Gideon had taken a sample of Neal's blood to the Meropian home base for analysis. When he returned, he might be able to provide an answer.

"Neal will be staying with us till we leave for France," Peter said. "Detective Briscoe offered to provide protection."

"The police may be ineffective against the type of danger you face. Under the circumstances, an extra safeguard is only prudent."

"What do you have in mind?" Neal asked warily.

"An additional bodyguard. You may prefer to think of it as an early warning system."

* * *

 _Notes: Thanks for reading and welcome back to Arkham! If this is your first visit, you may wish to check out the resources on the Arkham Files_ _page of our blog._ _I hope you'll join me for the next chapter when that early warning system mentioned by Lavinia causes additional complications to Neal's life and the attack by Sornoth acquires an even more ominous significance. Lion's Lair has 6 chapters, which I'll post weekly on Wednesday._

 _In Arkham, Neal is preparing to celebrate Thanksgiving, but in our timeline it's the holiday season. If you're looking for a December holiday story, we have several options in Caffrey Conversation: Choirboy Caffrey (early December 2003), By the Book (New Year's 2004), An Evening with Genji (mid-December 2004 and an early New York Christmas), Caffrey Aloha (Christmas 2004 and New Year's in Hawaii), and A Caffrey Christmas Carol (December 2005). There's a chronological list of all our stories as well as short summaries on our blog._

 _An additional gift is coming your way when Penna Nomen posts a new fic later this month. It's so tempting to shake the box and give a few teasers, but I promised to be good. The story is set in the third week of December 2003. This is the time period of the final two chapters of Choirboy Caffrey. Penna also surprised me with a present, somehow finding the time to sprinkle beta magic on Lion's Lair while writing her own story, all during a very hectic work period. Thanks, Penna!_

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
 _Chapter Visuals and Music: The Lion's Lair board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website  
Links to the blog and Pinterest site are in my profile._

 _Disclaimers: The worlds of_ _White Collar and the Cthulhu Mythos as envisaged by H.P. Lovecraft, August Derleth, and others are not mine, alas._


	2. Rumblings

**Chapter 2: Rumblings**

 **Arkham. November 22, 1975. Saturday evening.**

"Her demands are easily met," Neal assured El, handing her a wine glass. "A few grapes or strawberries—"

"Don't forget the cookies," Peter interjected.

"How could I? Not after the exhibition she gave at the grocery store. When she decided to rummage through the shelves for her favorites, I didn't think I'd ever be able to catch her." Out of sheer desperation, Neal finally resorted to breaking open a bag of Oreos to lure her down. He'd been forced to tell the skeptical cashier he'd developed a sudden attack of the munchies. Peter's barely repressed snickers weren't helpful.

"Let that serve as a lesson for all of us," said Peter solemnly, "to never take a chittak shopping again." The subject of their discussion was for the moment sitting quietly on the dining table next to the fruit bowl, but Ch'uli's smug expression made Neal believe she'd understood every word. Lavinia had lent him a canvas book bag to use as a carrier, and he'd unzipped it an inch to give her some air. Big mistake. Give an inch, take a mile of grocery shelves.

They were having happy hour in the dining room because apparently grocery shopping had given the chittak quite an appetite. Under the circumstances, trying to cook anything didn't seem worth the effort. Peter had called out for pizza.

El exhaled slowly as she gloomily watched yet another grape disappear into Ch'uli's mouth. "I hope you understand how annoying this is. You tell me there's a chittak sitting on our table. I see the grapes vanish in front of my eyes, but I can't see her."

"After last week we knew our lives would never be the same," Peter said philosophically. "Welcome to our new world."

Lavinia's response to the heightened threat in Arkham had been to offer Ch'uli's services until they left for Lyon. When El came home, her reaction to the additional houseguest was understandable—sheer frustration. Mozzie had convinced Lavinia to provide him with algolnium a few days ago. El and Sara were still waiting their turn. Even if El's blood was seeded with the chemical, she wouldn't be able to see Ch'uli. Once the element was absorbed into the system, it needed time to self-replicate.

El narrowed her eyes as Ch'uli began peeling a banana. "Lavinia has no valid reason to deny my request. Peter's experienced no ill effects."

"I'm sure she'll agree," Peter said soothingly. He turned to Neal. "Sara must feel the same way."

"I'm surprised she hasn't worn Lavinia down already." Neal would see her the next day for her first singing lesson. Her reaction to Ch'uli's antics would likely be even more vehement.

Peter filled El's glass with Chianti. "I wish I'd taken a Polaroid of your expression when you walked in and Satchmo was tussling with her on the floor."

"Don't rub it in," she warned. "Do you know how painful it is that our Lab can see her and I can't?"

"I guess we should have expected it," Neal said. "Satch's favorite toy is a grey squeaky monkey. Now he has the real thing."

El clapped her hands together, causing Ch'uli to chatter excitedly. "I should have thought of that. Peter, do you remember who gave us that toy?"

"Wasn't it Vijay, your assistant?"

She nodded grimly. "Lavinia has shapeshifted into his appearance before. I'd say the odds are excellent that it was actually Lavinia who gave us the monkey." She considered the Lab reproachfully. "How long have you been Lavinia's mole?"

Satchmo cocked his head and whined in response. He was no doubt frustrated too. His new playmate was sitting on the table while he was restricted to the floor.

El took a breath. "I'll deal with Lavinia later. How is it that Ch'uli is supposed to protect you?"

Peter studied the chittak. She'd curled up next to the fruit and cocked her head as if challenging him to give an adequate response. "Chittaks are sensitive to wormholes. They can detect one within a radius of a few hundred yards."

"Although I can't understand her chatter, Lavinia can," Neal added. "If Ch'uli senses danger, she'll report back to Lavinia."

"How will she accomplish that?" El asked skeptically. "Are we supposed to leave a door unlocked?"

"Of course not," Peter said. "She can open a window and climb out."

"So now we'll have to constantly check our windows? Will we need to take her on walks? Please don't tell me there's chittak poo on the dining room table."

"Supposedly Ch'uli is trained to use porcelain waterfalls," Neal explained. "That's Lavinia's term for a commode."

"Can she flush it as well?" El asked.

"Apparently so," Peter reported gravely. "Her paws, like lemurs, are quite dexterous."

El raised a brow. "She's getting free room and board. Should we ask her to wash up?"

"Maybe wait for tomorrow."

When Neal went to bed that night in the Gilmans' guest bedroom, Ch'uli had already nestled in a folded blanket. Her golden eyes continued to shine from the foot of the bed when Neal turned off the lamp on the nightstand. Lavinia had said that chittaks were primarily nocturnal. Rather than taking long periods of sleep, they dozed off and on during the day.

"Remember our agreement, roomie. No chittering at night, and don't hog the blankets."

Ch'uli gave him a soft chuckle in response and wrapped her long bushy tail around her body. He could just make out her eyes over her tail as she continued to watch him. Apparently she was equally fascinated by him.

The Gilmans' bed was comfortable but sleep didn't come easily. During the day he'd been able to focus first on Mozzie and then on his new life with a chittak. But at night, his doubts resurfaced. Had he been the cause of the attack on Mozzie? Sornoth might have read his mind when he was held captive. Simply because he didn't remember anything proved nothing. Meropians could read human minds without their subjects being conscious of it afterward. Sornoth could have the same ability.

Neal's first experience with a ghast was when it murdered a friend of his who worked at the rare bookstore in town. The police had tied the murder to the theft of a book about armillary spheres. Now the cult had their prize. Why was it so important to them?

Neal was glad he didn't know that Lavinia and Gideon were Meropians when he was a prisoner, or he might have betrayed them too. Lavinia didn't think the Ymar had the ability to read minds remotely. He wished he could be as confident.

He started when a furry paw touched his face. After a couple of exploratory pats, Ch'uli curled next to his neck, making a soft rumbling purr. The amulet was a reassuring weight around his neck. Ch'uli's rumble was growing louder, making it hard to think. The sound reminded him of a waterfall, _whooshing_ him away . . .

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Sara mounted the steps to June's front entrance, anxious to hear the latest report on Mozzie. When she instructed Neal in judo, she had no idea how prophetic her warning was. She should have insisted on him meeting her at the gym this afternoon. Even with the falls, it'd be far less painful for him than the ordeal of hearing her sing.

When she rang the doorbell, June answered the door.

"You're the first to arrive," she said, welcoming her in. "Neal called and will be here shortly. He's at Mozzie's. They've almost finished the inventory. So far they haven't found anything else missing."

"How is he?" Sara asked as June led her into the living room.

"He was released from the hospital this morning. Neal and I took him home. The nurses hated to see him leave. I gather he kept them entertained all night with stories of his travels."

Sara took a seat on the taupe brocade sofa. "Who knew an astrophysicist could lead such an adventurous life?"

"Or have such a vivid imagination!" June sat down beside her. "I'm particularly fond of his story about stargazing from a camel's back on the sand dunes of Saudi Arabia. Perhaps a slight exaggeration?"

"I wish I could have hitched a ride. I'm glad he'll still be able to go to Lyon."

"Herds of rampaging camels wouldn't keep him away."

"I'm sorry we're deserting you at Thanksgiving time."

"Oh, but you mustn't be. Cyrus doesn't have any classes on Wednesday. We'll leave early in the day for New Orleans. My sister has invited us to spend Thanksgiving with them."

Sara broke into a smile at the news. She counted June and Cyrus as her and Neal's first successful matchmaking attempt, mainly because they'd started seeing each other when Cyrus began researching algolnium. If Neal hadn't been discovered to be sensitive to the element, Cyrus might never have met June. She was taking their happiness as an auspicious omen for her and Neal's future.

The front door opened. "I thought I'd already hear you two warbling," Neal said, walking into the room.

"And deprive you of the pleasure of hearing Sara?" June said, standing up. "I couldn't be that heartless. In fact I plan to leave her in your capable hands. I have some groceries to buy if we're not just going to have scrambled eggs for dinner."

"I hope that's not an excuse so you don't have to hear me," Sara joked while secretly happy to have alone time with Neal.

June chuckled, but didn't answer as she withdrew to the kitchen.

Was there any chance of coaxing Neal to abandon the lesson? Sara had always been the first one to mock her singing ability, reasoning that if she set expectations in the cellar, the actual quality might seem decent. But then again, maybe she was truly dreadful. Almost as bad as Neal was at judo.

Neal was smiling as he dropped a book bag on the armchair, but his eyes looked worried. Sara immediately switched gears. What an idiot she'd been, focusing on herself rather than him. "June said Mozzie was doing well," she ventured tentatively.

"He is," Neal agreed, sitting down next to her.

"But?"

"He blames himself. Gideon had recommended moving the armillary sphere to the library vault, but Mozzie hadn't gotten around to it." He rubbed his temple. "I told him if anyone's to blame, it's me."

"You can't think you were at fault," she protested.

"It's not that unreasonable. I don't have any memory of what Sornoth did to me . . ." His words trailed off and he shrugged.

 _After his fangs ripped into your chest?_ Sara nodded understanding _._

"What if he read my mind? Told the Ymar who has the sphere? How much did they learn about us?"

"You shouldn't blame yourself. If it weren't for you, they would have gotten their claws on the armillary sphere a couple of months ago, and you wouldn't have been able to read the message. I'm sure Mozzie and Peter don't hold you responsible."

Neal shook his head but didn't look convinced.

Sara sought to distract him by bringing up the trip. "Did Gideon give you any special instructions for packing?"

"Just to bring a tux."

"He told me to pack a cocktail dress. Do you have any idea why?"

"No, but the hotel he booked us into is one of the most luxurious in Lyon. They may have a dress code."

Or there was a special event planned. She and El had shopped together and were hoping for a dinner dance. "Any word from Lavinia on when Gideon will return?"

He shook his head. "She warned me he may not be back before we leave. I don't have any way to communicate directly with him, but I could ask Lavinia to transmit a message."

"No need for that. I'm sure we'll eventually find out. I researched the hotel. The Cour des Loges is in the historic district. Parts date back to the fourteenth century. It sounds very elegant."

"Mozzie's colleague lives only a few blocks away."

"Did Peter hear back from the archaeologist he'd written to?" Last month a colleague in France had sent him drawings from a Neolithic cave close to Lyon. They appeared to represent starfish with tadpole-like curved tails. The same style of starfish had been found painted onto pottery fragments at Abydos and Morocco. They were also similar to one of the symbols on the starfish artifacts found at the crime scenes during a spate of murders in Arkham earlier in the year. Now that they knew the starfish symbol originated with the Elnath, an alien species who'd colonized Earth during the Neolithic, Peter was hot on the trail for more evidence. Sara had given herself a cram course on the period. Although she couldn't write about extraterrestrials for the newspaper, she could publish accounts of an early previously undocumented Neolithic culture.

"He's arranged to meet with him Friday in Lyon—" Neal stopped abruptly and snickered. He brushed something off the back of his neck.

Sara watched dumbfounded as his turtleneck sweater began to ripple. "What's going on?" she demanded. The way Neal was laughing, it couldn't be anything scary.

"This is Ch'uli, one of Lavinia's chittaks," he explained, stroking an invisible something on his chest. "Lavinia lent her to me. In view of what happened with Mozzie, she recommended I have a roommate, and supposedly Ch'uli is an ace wormhole-sniffer."

 _Does she know judo? Wouldn't I make a better roommate? We could have so much more fun if you'd just let me._ Sara suppressed all the words she longed to say. To Neal, she was just a friend and colleague. She'd barely started her ten-step strategy to convince him otherwise. What Neal needed was both her and Ch'uli and for that to happen, she needed algolnium. Sara had made herself a constant pest at Lavinia's door. This was the final straw. No point in complaining to Neal. She'd direct her outrage straight at the source.

Neal stood up. Sara watched uneasily as he picked up the guitar which was propped next to the grand piano. Raw panic seized her by the throat. Forget invisible chittaks. He actually intended to give her a lesson.

. . .

And it went about as bad as she'd predicted. Not that Neal was mean in his comments. But even Sara could tell how lousy she was.

"Is the chittak laughing at me?" Sara accused as she grabbed a hank of her hair and twisted it into a ponytail. "It's not nice to mock the musically challenged."

"Why would you think she's laughing at you?" Neal asked, biting his lip as his eyes darted around the living room.

Sara groaned. "Well, you couldn't be rolling on the floor from my singing."

"Actually, you sing worse than I remembered. I wondered if that was deliberate on your part."

"Hey, I'm trying," she protested indignantly.

"You're sure you're not exacting revenge for not being about to see the chittak?"

"No indeed, I'm saving all my ammunition for Lavinia."

June's return from shopping only served to initiate the next phase of Sara's torture. When she heard grilled shrimp was on the menu, she breathed easier. Surely she could manage that. Then June told her the heads were still on the shrimp and she'd need to clean them.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

June had been an exacting taskmaster in the art of deveining shrimp and cleaning them properly. Only a few minor wounds ensued, and the resulting scampi was delicious.

After her first lesson, Neal was prepared to state Sara's chance of becoming a decent cook was much greater than being able to sing in tune. She'd challenged him to teach her to sing "Mockingbird" by New Year's Eve. The Fourth of July would have been a safer bet. He would have been suspicious she was pretending to be worse than she actually was, except that she seemed so sincere in her frustration.

Ch'uli insisted on riding on Neal's shoulder for the short walk back to the Gilmans' townhouse. He didn't need to understand her chatter to recognize her outrage at the idea of being transported in the book tote. The likelihood that they were establishing a telepathic link was stronger than ever. How else to explain the image flashing through his mind of marauding zoogs attacking the bag? Lavinia had told him chittaks could be fierce predators, and their bite was no trifling matter. She neglected to mention they were also headstrong and independent . . . not unlike a certain redhead he knew.

El's car was parked in the driveway when Neal arrived at the townhouse. She'd spent the day at the medical center, substituting for others who'd return the favor over Thanksgiving. When Neal walked through the front door, he could hear her and Peter talking in the living room. Satchmo bounded into the entry to greet his new best friend Ch'uli. With a flying leap, she landed on top of the Lab's back in a clear invitation to play.

The two of them tore into the living room while Neal hung up his coat in the coat closet. The quiet murmur of voices was interrupted by the ominous crash and clatter of smashed pottery.

"Satchmo!" yelled El.

"Ch'uli!" roared Peter. "Off the bookcase NOW!"

Neal cautiously peered around the corner. "Am I in trouble too?" Satchmo was rooted in place, looking abject, while Ch'uli had scampered onto El's shoulder and was playing with her hair.

El laughed and made random swats in the air. "You're safe for the moment, as long as you disentangle me. I'm drawing a line against invisible pets grooming my hair." She eyed regretfully the wood plant stand which was lying on the floor with the fern in its broken pot next to it. "It's really my fault for not chittak-proofing the house."

"That would be impossible," Peter remarked. "Neal, the broom and dustpan are in the mudroom."

Minutes later, peace was restored. Satchmo, duly contrite, was lying in his bed with Ch'uli curled up next to him.

"It's a good thing Lavinia gave me algolnium this afternoon," El remarked, "or there might be words."

"Did you experience any reaction?" Neal asked.

"None at all. Lavinia said she gave me a smaller dose than Peter so I shouldn't expect to see any effect for quite a while. She also has plans to administer it to Sara next time she bangs on her door."

"That will be tomorrow," Neal said. "I didn't know you were going to see her today."

"I didn't either. She called me."

To Neal's knowledge, Lavinia had never called El to request a meeting. That could only mean one thing—she'd heard back from her home base about Neal's blood sample.

"Like a drink?" Peter suggested. "I'm getting a beer. El has tea. There's some red wine left over from dinner."

"I think I better." He followed Peter into the kitchen. "Do you know the results?"

He shook his head. "El wanted to hold off discussing them till you were back." He briefly clasped Neal's shoulder. "Knowledge is always a good thing."

Neal took his wine and sat in the armchair opposite the couch. El had her composed professional look on, increasing his jitters. If the results had been negative, she likely would have gone ahead and told Peter. "What did they find?" he asked, trying to make it sound as casual as if he were asking for the weather forecast.

He didn't fool El for a second. "You're assuming the results are positive. I wish I could say you're wrong, but that's not the case. Lavinia called the compound _ymarite_. It's algolnium based and exceedingly rare. The Meropians have limited experience with it. The chemical was found in the blood of a few Meropians who'd been held captive by Sornoth early in the invasion of their planet."

"What effect does ymarite have?" Neal asked, steeling himself to appear calm even as his heart began to race.

"Honestly, they don't know. There were five instances, and none of them displayed physical symptoms. In two cases the Meropians disappeared within five months of being captured and were never seen again. Three were killed during a battle to control an outpost. Some of the council members are concerned that ymarite may act as a tracer, enabling the carrier to be located by forces of the Ymar."

"Could the drug influence my behavior?"

"It's possible," she conceded. El's eyes were full of compassion, but Neal's reaction was to bolt. Had he become a tool of the Ymar? First the attack on Mozzie. What was coming next? Would the aliens send ghasts to kill all those who helped him, one friend at a time?

Ch'uli leaped onto his lap. She scrambled up his shoulder and softly chittered in his ear as if she sensed his fears.

"I don't like it either," he murmured back.

"The strategy Lavinia proposed is a sound one," El said. "Once you have a chance to evaluate, I think you'll agree, too."

"What strategy?" Neal asked, suddenly aware that he must have tuned her out for minutes.

She winced. "I suspected you weren't listening. That's my fault. I should have found a better way to tell you."

"You can't blame yourself," Neal protested. "I should have been better prepared. This wasn't unexpected. It may be why we were able to escape the planet. That was their plan all along."

Peter shook his head. "If your theory's right, those ghasts who chased us hadn't gotten the directive."

"We can't be sure of that," Neal insisted. "Perhaps their orders were to simply make it appear that they wanted to capture us."

"Does that really matter now?" El asked. "The Meropians have been studying the compound and they believe it's possible to purge it from your system or at the very least to neutralize it. You're the first to be infected with ymarite in hundreds of years and that makes you even more valuable. One of the Meropian scientists is returning with Gideon. She's offered to work with us to develop an antidote. Lavinia is confident that we'll be able to produce the proper formula."

"It might be better if I moved out until it's neutralized," Neal suggested. "Then I wouldn't have to worry about you."

El shook her head. "You're the one in danger, not us. The Meropians are excited at the discovery. They think you will be the means of them finally understanding the properties of the compound."

"So I should send Sornoth a thank you card?"

Peter and El tried to act as if nothing had changed, but they were fighting a losing battle. While they watched a _Colombo_ episode on TV, Neal reviewed his options. They insisted he wasn't putting them at risk, but if ghasts could now pinpoint his location, they'd be caught in the fallout. His fear that he'd somehow led the cult to the armillary sphere was now far more likely. His mind spun in circles. There were no good options.

When he finally fell to sleep that night, it helped little. Neal woke up in a cold sweat, the cries of Peter and El ringing in his ears. Peter had teased him for being an algolnium sniffer. Had Neal now become the Ymar's tracking device? They couldn't come through the wormhole, but they could send their ghasts.

Zoogs transmitted communications to the cult which Diana had warned was deepening its tentacles throughout the world. Were zoogs now able to trace his movements and report them to the cult, to the Ymar? Chu'li's soft rumbles weren't enough to dampen his conviction that he was a danger to everyone around him.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The next day, Neal didn't take Ch'uli to the university. After witnessing the disruptions she'd caused both at June's place and the Gilmans', he wasn't willing to risk an invisible chittak bouncing around the classroom. Peter suspected that part of Lavinia's reclusiveness was because of the chittaks, and he'd have to agree.

Late in the afternoon, Sara called to see if he was free, offering to come to his office. Neal would have suggested meeting at the coffeehouse, but, with the cult active once more, they were being careful to not be overheard. He suspected that she wanted to see him because Lavinia had granted her wish.

"You're looking at the newest member of the algolnium band," Sara said proudly when she arrived.

"Did you have any reaction to it?" he asked, hanging her trench coat on the coat rack.

Sara took a seat in the chair next to his desk. "None at all. Lavinia brewed me a cup of aromatic tea which contained the element. I talked with El afterward. Lavinia warned both of us that the dosage was minuscule, and we'd have to be patient." She smiled ruefully. "No wormhole traveling for a while."

 _Or ability to see ghasts and nightgaunts._ Sara believed he needed protection, but actually she was the one who was much more vulnerable.

"Did El tell you about ymarite?"

"No. What's that?"

He'd already rehearsed his lines. He was resolute and confident. An antidote was just around the corner. Right. "Lavinia heard back and, as we expected, Sornoth left me a parting gift." As he explained what they knew about ymarite, he felt like a heel. Sara's glow from her moment of triumph was replaced by the tension he suspected had earlier been on his own face.

"Does the compound cause any physical symptoms?"

"Not that I'm aware of. You know El put me through a complete battery of tests when Peter and I returned from Merope, and she didn't find anything wrong."

"But it could be slow-acting, just like algolnium," she pointed out.

"Yeah, my days of being a lab rat aren't over," he admitted reluctantly. "El's already warned me to prepare for more tests after we return from Lyon."

"Gosh, Lyon . . ." Wincing, she sat back and turned her head to stare out the window.

"No fears about that," Neal quickly assured her. "We don't have to change any of our plans."

"But I may need to." She took a breath. "That was the reason I wanted to see you. When I got back to work, Larry called me into his office."

"I hope he's not raising objections about the trip?"

"No, just the opposite." Sara smoothed a lock of her hair back behind an ear, a nervous habit that was a tell something was bothering her.

"What's come up?"

"Larry was contacted about my application to the _International Herald Tribune_."

"I didn't realize you'd applied."

"I'd almost forgotten about it. I'd submitted my resume when I was job hunting after college. I hadn't heard back from them when I got the offer from the _Arkham Gazette_. You know how I've wanted to work overseas," she added as if she needed to explain her action.

"I would have been surprised if you hadn't applied." Sara had made no secret of her ambition of being an international investigative journalist.

"Larry and I discussed international opportunities last summer. He has a contact with the paper—a woman named Doris Willoughby. Larry offered to write her about me. He heard back from Doris yesterday. Apparently, that feature I wrote about the Starry Wisdom cult in Arkham attracted their notice. They want to talk to me about a job opening."

"Congratulations!"

Her smile was more tentative than he would have expected. "I'm not sure if that's the right word. I applied while you were in Oxford, little dreaming I'd have to weigh going international as opposed to going intergalactic."

"Do you know much about the job?"

"Not really. Larry suggested I take advantage of being in France and fly back via London to meet with them."

"When would this happen?"

"They'd like to talk with me Monday morning. I'd need to leave Sunday."

"You should do it," Neal declared. "We'll probably return on Sunday as well."

"But how can I, especially now?"

"You can't put your career on hold. Diana mentioned there's been an upswing in cult activity in Europe. You may be providing the band a vital service. You'll be our woman in Europe."

She smiled. "When you put it that way . . ."

"I do," he said firmly.

"They probably won't be interested in me. They'll think I'm too young, too inexperienced."

"They'll want you, all right. Just make sure they pay you enough so you can afford frequent trips home."

Sara would be safer in Europe than in Arkham. Until a way was found to purge his system of that chemical, the less she saw of him the better. No matter what the others said, he'd been responsible for the attack on Mozzie. He couldn't stand the thought of him being the cause for someone else being injured or worse.

But as it turned out, he had a difficult time blaming himself for the next occurrence. That evening, Mozzie called him at the Gilmans' while they were having dinner. Philippe Vannier, the astronomer in Lyon who was researching Agrippa, had been murdered.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Detective Diana Briscoe tapped the open file in front of her and frowned. "You're still determined to go?"

"More than ever," Peter said.

Neal had buried his concerns about ymarite in the face of the attack. The more immediate crisis was Lyon. He and Peter had gone to the police station the next day over the lunch hour to meet with the detective. Peter had alerted her the previous evening with the news and she'd promised to contact Interpol for them. When they arrived at the police station, Diana commandeered one of the questioning rooms for their use. Their visits with Diana had become a regular occurrence over the past couple of months. The pale yellow walls and red brick columns of the police station were beginning to feel like an extension to the university.

"I suspected that would be your attitude," she said. "I spoke with a French Interpol agent named Raquel Dubois. She's currently in Lyon, assisting the local police. I've talked with her before in conjunction with the Starry Wisdom cult. She's agreed to act as your liaison with the local police. She speaks English—probably not a concern for you but Peter may appreciate it. She said that so far there's no indication of cult involvement."

"Then what does she think the motive was?" Neal asked.

"Most likely a robbery. It sounds like the professor's apartment was crammed with as much stuff as Professor Atwood's. He lived alone. A cleaning woman came in once a week, but she wasn't able to tell if anything was missing. She said he was touchy about his clutter, so she didn't dust his office."

"How was he killed?" Peter asked.

"Knife wound to the chest. He apparently put up a struggle. The front door had been kicked open." She handed Peter a sheet of paper. "This is the contact information for Raquel. You're to check in with her when you arrive. I know you'll want to see the professor's office. She'll expedite the procedure."

A knock was heard on the door. Neal turned his head to look through the slatted blinds on the large window looking into the bullpen and saw Clinton Jones standing outside. Without waiting for an answer, the detective stuck his head in. "Is now a good time?"

"Sure, they should hear it too." She waved him to a seat.

Jones was Diana's partner. He'd worked with them on the previous cult cases. "I've been checking around the waterfront for signs of the cult. Sharkey's bar was Chad's favorite place to hang out. Figured our best shot at a lead was there."

"Jones has been continuing to monitor the waterfront ever since we rounded up cult members at the old sanitarium," Diana explained. "Just because no one has spotted zoogs recently doesn't mean we should relax our guard."

Privately Neal doubted any survived, based on Lavinia's knowledge of the species. Without a host, they could only survive on Earth a few weeks, and Lavinia was convinced no new wormholes had opened in Arkham.

"My longshoreman's alias is still intact with the locals," Jones said. "Weekends I've occasionally dropped in for a few rounds of pool or poker. A fisherman thought he saw Chad a couple of nights ago. As near as he could place it, that was last Thursday, but there's been no sign of him since."

"There's no record of anyone traveling under Chad's name overseas," Diana added. "And we don't know what alias he might be using." She hesitated for a moment. "Does your wife continue to believe there's a zoog in his brain?"

Peter nodded. "The moon-tree wine you confiscated from the cult was laced with zoog embryos. The extent of tissue modification indicates that the zoog in Keller's brain was probably there for at least several months."

"We should be grateful that only the priests and their assistants drink the stuff," Jones said. "It gives me the creeps to even think about it."

"Have there been any other reports of moon-tree wine?" Neal asked. In the aftermath of the discovery, the FBI and Interpol had been alerted of the threat of a toxic compound. Although the liquid the Arkham police had confiscated disintegrated a few days later, there was photographic evidence of its phosphorescence. The presence of zoog larvae was a closely guarded secret.

"No," she said. "No starfish artifacts left at crime scenes either. We could be optimistic and think that whatever bizarre cosmological phenomenon caused the wormholes no longer exists and Chad is the lone survivor."

Jones barked a short laugh. "Chad, the last dinosaur. Man, that would make our lives so much simpler."

Neal exchanged glances with Peter. That was wishful thinking. Lavinia and Gideon knew that the Celaenians had used wormholes scattered across the planet to banish the Ymar from Earth. Now that the Ymar had figured out how to reopen them to let ghasts, zoogs and doubtless other creatures into the world, it was only a matter of time before the next confrontation.

* * *

 _Notes: Unlike the typical Lovecraft hero, Neal is fortunate to be surrounded by a strong support team. That's one of the key messages which Diana and the members of the Arkham Round Table are planting in the story. I wrote about the team's strategy for the blog this week. The post is called Messages to Azathoth: The Lion and the Serpent._

 _Betelgeuse was delighted to receive favorable reviews. He thinks it's high time that Satchmo not grab all the attention. Ch'uli, smart chittak that she is, doesn't play favorites. Although this chapter highlighted her interactions with Satchmo, Mozzie's convinced she's been visiting Betelgeuse for years. How else to explain the cat's bizarre antics?_

 _The wait is almost over. Coming this Friday, December 21, is the first chapter in Penna's new story, "In the Driver's Seat." Warm up your engines!_

 _I'll be back next Wednesday with a new chapter where Neal catches a glimpse of the enemy confronting them before they fly to Lyon. In the meantime, Merry Christmas to all who celebrate!_

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
 _Chapter Visuals: The Lion's Lair board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	3. Coded Messages

**Chapter 3: Coded Messages**

 **Miskatonic University. Tuesday, November 25, 1975.**

Marjorie Whipple nudged her wire-rimmed glasses higher on her nose. "Neal, you realize you're the envy of the department. How many linguists have the chance to do field work? And that it should be to research a previously unknown civilization? All I can say is you were born under a lucky star. And if you happen to find another one, please shove me underneath it."

Marjorie had scheduled the meeting in her office to discuss his teaching schedule for the next term. As a rookie assistant professor, Neal should be relegated to introductory lectures. Instead he was afforded the luxury of small intensive seminars similar to what Peter taught.

Gideon had smoothed the way with the university president for Neal's expected frequent absences. Calvin Upton was happy to accommodate one of the university's major benefactors. The discovery of an ancient disk in an Arkham tomb was the springboard for Neal's shift into field work. The disk, dated to 6,000 BC, provided irrefutable evidence of an unknown early advanced civilization with a sophisticated writing system. Peter had convinced Calvin that certain Neolithic cultures scattered around the globe could be linked to the Arkham disk. Securing the president's blessing for field expeditions was a cinch since Gideon was providing the funds. Peter further argued that Neal needed to go along because of his expertise on early writing systems.

Calvin was ecstatic about the acclaim the university would garner for what could be the greatest archaeological discovery of modern times. He was likely daydreaming about a future institute devoted exclusively to the study of the unknown culture. Would he be so enthusiastic if he knew about the Elnath who had colonized Earth at an even earlier time in its prehistory? More likely, he'd be terrified of the university losing accreditation for holding such outlandish views.

"Whatever seminars you pick, since I'll have to substitute for you, let's make sure they're in areas I'm familiar with." Marjorie shook her finger at him. "No Old Norse. No Futhark runes."

Neal could have argued his case. With her short blonde bob, bangs, and professorial scowl, Marjorie could easily make a formidable Viking. Only a few years ago, he'd been her student and was just as intimidated as his fellow students by her gruff, take-no-prisoners approach. Now he could sit back and joke with her about the pitfalls of teaching.

They settled on Beowulf, archaic Chinese scripts, and Old French as acceptable compromises for his three upcoming seminars. As he glanced around the familiar homey surroundings of her wood-paneled office with double mullioned windows overlooking the quad, the quiet life of an academic seemed especially appealing. Peter juggled field work with teaching assignments. Neal hoped he'd be able to do the same.

At the end of the day, he stopped off at Peter's office on his way downstairs so they could walk home together. The last classes would be on Wednesday morning. Gideon had arranged for a limo to pick them up in the afternoon for the trip to Logan Airport in Boston. There they'd board a flight to Paris, arriving in Lyon via a connecting flight the next morning.

"Are you going to miss your roommate?" Peter asked as they walked down the broad central staircase in Wingate Hall.

"I'll manage. Can you imagine what Ch'uli would be like on a plane? Scampering through the overhead bins, stealing food from the passengers? Even Lavinia acknowledges the chittak should be grounded. I'll return her tomorrow morning. Who'll take care of Satchmo?"

"El's assistant Vijay offered. Satchmo will be the goodwill ambassador at the children's ward in the medical center."

"The kids will love him." Neal stopped abruptly on the landing to the second floor, grimacing at the sharp pain exploding in his head. He lost his footing and made a grab for the railing. Peter was dissolving before his eyes even as he heard him call out . . .

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"What precisely did you see in your vision?" Lavinia repeated.

Neal took another sip of emerald wine before replying. When he came back to reality, Peter had hold of him. He'd only been out for a minute. Most everyone had already left for the day so there were few to witness his collapse.

Peter paused only long enough to hear Neal's mumbled explanation before hustling him over to Lavinia's. Physically, he felt fine except for a residual headache, but emotionally?

"As I told Peter, I was in a cavernous chamber. I remember looking up and being unable to see the ceiling. The only lights were focused on an immense metal apparatus in front of me. It was composed of layers upon layers of brass hoops, spheres, and gears. It looked like a gigantic armillary sphere, but of monstrous complexity. The rings were punctuated with luminous crystals of various colors. I remember one in particular—a crystal about the size of my fist. It resembled a diamond but had a subtle greenish-blue cast."

At his words, Lavinia's walnut-colored skin turned ashen. "Like the gem in your amulet?"

Neal reached inside his shirt and pulled it out. The tiny crystal at the center of the disk had been discovered by Cyrus to contain algolnium. They'd named the stone celaenite. "The color is identical." His amulet was made by Celaenians. After an attack orchestrated by the Ymar, their planet had been sealed off. Perhaps his vision had been a scene from the past.

"Lavinia, what is the significance of that crystal?" Peter demanded, his expression growing anxious despite the emerald wine he too was drinking. Ch'orri had claimed possession of his lap but was sitting quietly, his golden eyes riveted on Neal.

"I'll answer your question in a moment. Could you tell anything about the construction of the walls?"

"They were made of a dark veined stone, polished to high luster—onyx or perhaps obsidian. Carved into the stone were inscriptions inlaid with gold. The script appeared to be the same as that on the soapstone starfish. It reminded me of the writing I'd seen on the walls at the monastery of Leng." Neal paused, as another icepick sliced through his head. He rubbed his temple till the pain subsided. "A creature walked from around the back of the machine. It must have been about twelve feet tall. Its shape reminded me of a praying mantis, only it had six legs and four whip-like tails or tentacles projecting from its back. It walked upright on two of the legs. Perhaps the other four were arms although they were as long as the legs."

Neal swiped a hand over his forehead. He was breaking out in a cold sweat as he thought about the alien. "I'm not squeamish about insects, even the overgrown variety, but there was a pervasive sense of malevolence about the creature which made me want to bolt in terror."

"Could you see his face?" Lavinia asked.

"I don't think so. It appeared to be wearing a helmet with a luminous opaque visor. Its skin or armor—I don't know which it was—shone like the carapace on a June beetle. The skin was predominantly gunmetal gray and was embedded with turquoise crystals. They appeared to glow but the effect might have been caused by the light shining on them." Neal had been staring at the tapestry cloth on the table as he strove to recall each detail of the creature, but he raised his head to look at Lavinia. "Do you know what it is?"

"What you saw what one of the Ymar, likely Azathoth himself. That's his usual appearance."

Shocked, Neal stared at her speechless.

Peter took a hefty swig of emerald wine. "The only image we've seen of him shows him to be a mass of tentacles with a glowing eye in the center, but you'd explained the Ymar are shapeshifters. Is what Neal saw his true appearance?"

"I believe so." Lavinia strode over to her desk. She unlocked a lower drawer and pulled out a book bound in olive-colored leather. She quickly leafed through the pages then took it over for them to see. It was a drawing of a creature which appeared identical to the one in his vision.

"This is an image of Azathoth which was drawn by a Meropian who'd visited Tirelia a hundred or so years ago. He also left an account of Azathoth's fortress."

Tirelia was a planet in a parallel universe which had become home to the Ymar after they were banished from Earth by the Celaenians. Earth and Tirelia existed at either end of a node which connected the two universes.

"Was the fortress similar to Neal's description?" Peter asked, his voice rough.

She nodded. "Azathoth dwells in a castle made of onyx atop Kadath in the northern mountains." She gripped Neal by the shoulder. "Did he appear aware of you?"

"I don't think so. He reached up with two of his arms and rotated one of the hoops on the machine. Then a man entered the room."

Peter stared at him, startled. "A human?"

"He looked human," Neal hedged. "He was middle-aged, short, and on the heavy side. He had an unkempt beard. His dark hair was streaked with a little gray and shoulder length. He wore a coat and thick leather boots."

"What style of clothes?" Lavinia asked.

"Old-fashioned. They reminded me of the everyday clothes in genre paintings of seventeenth or eighteenth century Europe. The man spoke to the Ymar"—he stumbled over the name, reluctant to say it aloud—"to Azathoth."

"Could you understand him?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded. "It was as if he was speaking English, but he couldn't have been." He turned to Lavinia. "Can you explain it?"

"I believe so. Meropians have a similar ability to understand foreign tongues. They're translated at a subconscious level."

"Is your reply also translated?" Neal asked, the linguist in him shoving aside thoughts of Azathoth.

She nodded. "It is if we consciously will it. You may have inherited the ability from your father. When you return from Lyon, I'll work with you on it. What did they talk about?"

"Apparently Azathoth had requested the man check on their supply of ruby crystals." Neal turned to Peter. "That's the exact term which came into my head. The man said the supply was not sufficient to fill the order. With that, the vision vanished and I was back in Wingate Hall, staring at the stairwell."

"Could ymarite have caused the vision?" Peter asked the question Neal had been pondering for the past several minutes and for which he dreaded to hear the answer.

"Possibly," Lavinia said. "You said you experienced a severe headache at its onset. Did you have a similar reaction during any of your previous visions?"

"No," Neal confirmed, not liking the direction this was going, but he had to be honest. "Previously whatever I was looking at simply dissolved into another reality."

"I've been present for most of the occurrences," Peter added. "During them Neal was unresponsive. At the conclusion, he was exhausted, but he never mentioned them being painful."

Lavinia nodded as if she were already aware of what their answer would be. "It's reasonable to assume ymarite plays a role, but there are also hopeful signs. Azathoth wasn't aware of your presence. There's no indication he willed you to experience the vision. Somehow you were able to spy on him in his stronghold. The script you saw was likely Elnathian. The Ymar usurped their written language for inscriptions."

"You said you'd explain the significance of the celaenite crystal," Neal prompted.

"To the best of our knowledge, there's only one source for celaenite, and that's on Celaeno. I fear that the crystal was seized during the destruction of the library on that planet. Thanks to it, Azathoth's power is likely even more formidable."

"If Azathoth didn't cause the vision, what could have provoked it?" Neal asked.

She shook her head. "I don't know but I suspect it's somehow connected to the armillary sphere."

"We've been worried about the Ymar being able to read Neal's thoughts, but what if the opposite is true?" Peter asked as he continued to stroke Ch'orri. "Could that compound give us an unexpected advantage? What if Neal can read their thoughts?"

"Unlikely," Lavinia said, dashing their hopes before Neal could get excited about the possibility. "The Celaenians may have had the ability, but Neal is untrained, and there's no one I know of skilled in Celaenian mind disciplines. Still, it's an interesting hypothesis."

Peter nodded at Neal. "The ymarite you carry may be a double-edged sword or even a secret weapon. You were able to peer into Azathoth's fortress and observe him undetected."

"We shouldn't discount the possibility that Celaenians planted the vision in your head," Lavinia advised. "It may be a vision of a future event, similar to the one you experienced of a ghast stealing the armillary sphere in the Nautical Shop. Or it could portend a future event which may never come to pass. To change our strategy would be foolhardy."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

El's response to the vision was predictable. When Peter called her from Lavinia's office, she insisted Neal undergo an examination. Although Neal grumbled about it, he couldn't deny the necessity. Peter was prepared to overrule him if he attempted to gloss over the headache. When they'd been at Lavinia's, it was clear he was still suffering from it.

Neal's vitals were normal but the test results revealed a heightened level of abnormal cranial activity when compared with previous tests. El attempted to put a positive spin on the results, focusing on the other indicators being excellent. She didn't mention to Neal that she'd already been in touch with the Lyon hospital and had forwarded them her credentials. She'd now be able to use their facilities if needed.

It was late by the time they returned home that evening. Peter stopped off for Chinese takeout so El wouldn't have to cook. Dinner was on the subdued side with even Ch'uli's antics not providing much relief. Afterward, Neal spent the evening drawing the scene he'd witnessed. As Peter watched Azathoth come to life, his sense of foreboding increased. Lavinia thought the vision was connected to the armillary sphere. Had the cult already managed to transmit it to Azathoth, and if so, were the Celaenians trying to warn Neal?

Sleep didn't come easily when they retired for the night, and he expected Neal was also having difficulties. When Peter finally dropped off, he was awakened by El shaking his shoulder after what seemed like only a few minutes.

"What happened?" he asked, his hand immediately reaching for the maple nightstand.

"Relax. You were having a nightmare. You were calling Neal's name, and I was concerned he'd hear you. There's no intruder." She began rubbing his back. "I'm sorry I startled you."

He nodded, still breathing heavily as if he'd been in a race . . . or in a panic. He forced himself to slow his breaths.

"That's better," she murmured. I'll get you some water. Would you like a sleeping pill?"

"Just water, thanks."

She turned on the china bedside lamp and stood up. Slipping into a velour robe, she headed to the bathroom.

Peter was embarrassed at having awakened her. They'd be flying to Lyon the next day. They both needed their sleep. He checked the nightstand drawer while El couldn't see him to verify his gun was still in place. Diana had come through with a permit so he'd be able to carry it concealed on the plane and in France. Captain Hughes had named him an adjunct member of the Arkham police force for the duration of the trip. He should be reassured, but against ghasts a gun would be useless.

"Same nightmare?" El asked, returning with the water.

"No. This time instead of Neal being back in the cell with Sornoth, he was Azathoth's prisoner in that fortress he saw in his vision. Neal was trapped within the rings of the machine while Azathoth was torturing him." Peter attempted to laugh it off. "I guess I shouldn't have asked him to draw it." He patted her hand. "Sorry I woke you. You should go back to sleep."

"I was already awake," she admitted. "We'll need to get up in an hour anyway. You did the right thing to have Neal make the drawing. Lavinia will show it to Talmadge when he returns."

"I wish we could leave Neal here where Lavinia and the chittaks can protect him."

She smiled wistfully. "You know he'd never agree, and we'll need him in Lyon. Besides, Arkham isn't a safe refuge. Sornoth yanked both of you out of the library vault."

"But now that Neal's got that alien compound inside him . . ."

"I'm taking my medical bag," she said quietly. "I've made arrangements with the hospital. We'll be with him. I'm afraid that's the best that we can do."

El quietly opened their bedroom door and tiptoed into the hall. After a couple of minutes, she returned. "All's quiet. No sounds from Neal's room. Satchmo's sprawled at the top of the stairs."

For now, there was nothing to worry about. But Lyon was a different matter. The message on the armillary sphere had said a serpent would fly overhead. Was that like a nightgaunt, but worse? Vannier's death proved that the cult was active in Lyon. Peter's gut gave another lurch. Lyon was supposed to be the gastronomic capital of the world, but from his perspective, all he saw was looming heartburn.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWWC**

Their group flew to Lyon, courtesy of Gideon Talmadge. He'd orchestrated the travel arrangements for the entire trip before he left for his home base, leaving the execution to his efficient assistant, Fei Hong. Neal had never met her, but Peter had spoken with her on the phone. Gideon's financial empire was run out of London with Fei managing the day-to-day operations.

Flying first class to Europe on the day before Thanksgiving had its advantages. Apparently everyone else stayed in the States. Their group had the cabin to themselves, allowing them to talk more freely than they would have been able to otherwise.

Sara sat beside Neal on the first leg of the flight to Paris, insisting he take the window seat. No longer content with being an investigative journalist, Sara had assumed the role of bodyguard. She'd carefully scanned each passenger boarding the flight as if they might be Chad in disguise. When Neal teased her about it, she flared up at him for not taking the situation seriously. She even admitted to having questioned Diana on surveillance tactics. He appreciated the thought, but so far she was only succeeding in making him jumpier.

During the flight, Azathoth's fortress continued to be the hot topic. "What did Cyrus think the apparatus was?" Sara asked.

"He speculated that it's a machine to create artificial wormholes. Those crystals I saw looked similar to the ones which opened wormholes on Earth."

"The crystals could be the fuel," she suggested. "If that's the case, we could be in luck. From the sound of it, they were running out of their power supply. That could explain why there haven't been more reports of cult activity. The Ymar may be losing their means of communication."

Neal hoped she was right. It would give them all a badly needed breathing space. As yet they had no counterstrategy. The Ymar had been manipulating the Starry Wisdom cult to perform their bidding for over a thousand years. Mozzie believed the cult had sponsored terrorism throughout their history. Acting behind the scenes, they manipulated governments to perform their bidding. Neal had been inclined to dismiss his theories, but Lavinia was in agreement. Since her arrival on Earth in 1962, she'd been studying historical sources in an attempt to document cult interference. She'd already accumulated a disturbingly long list of suspected activities in political affairs across the globe. Mozzie believed it was likely that the cult had influenced other secret societies. By strategically placing cult members in high positions, the cult had been able to act as a power broker to monarchs and potentates.

"No wormholes means no ghasts," Sara said. "No zoogs either or the moon-tree wine they supply to the cult."

The cult priest had intended to force Sara to drink some of the highly addictive liquid. If she hadn't been rescued, she would have been infected with the zoog larvae which lived in the wine. At the time, none of them realized how much danger she'd been in.

"Crystals are generally mined," she mused aloud. "I wonder where those came from."

"Perhaps mines on Tirelia?" Neal suggested.

"Just think—glittering caves of ruby crystals. Neal, we need to go to Tirelia!"

"You were just injected with algolnium and already you want to go to Tirelia?" he teased.

"Of course." She leaned around the edge of her seat to Mozzie sitting behind her. "Wouldn't you like to go to Tirelia?"

"In a heartbeat!" he responded immediately. "Has Lavinia shared with you how we can get there?"

She looked to Neal. "How about it?"

He shrugged. "We'll have to find a wormhole. The one in Arkham is sealed now and I don't know of any others. With fewer wormholes forming, I wouldn't pack your bags anytime soon."

"Don't pay any attention to him," Mozzie advised. "Wormholes are attracted to the pull of Neal's gravity like planets around a star. Maintain constant vigilance is my motto. The next wormhole is ours!"

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The next morning when they arrived in Lyon, Fei Hong was waiting for them at baggage claim. Peter judged her to be in her mid-thirties. Clad in a navy sharkskin pantsuit, with her hair pulled back in a tight bun, she looked every inch the professional investment banker. She evidently had been given descriptions of them since she approached them while they were collecting their luggage.

She'd arranged for a limo to take their party to the Cour des Loges hotel. The car was equipped with facing bench seats which accommodated six so she could ride in the back with them.

"Doctor Wayland, I've made arrangements with the forensics department for you to examine the corpse," Fei said. Her crisp words had a slight English intonation. "When you're ready, I'll take you to the autopsy division."

"Thank you," El said, "I'll only need a few minutes at the hotel." In France, Thanksgiving was not a holiday, and everyone was eager to make the most of their limited time. If necessary, Peter, Neal, and Mozzie could prolong their stay, but El had a full schedule of patients to see on Monday.

"Are we meeting our contact at the police station?" Mozzie asked. Peter knew he was cringing at the thought even as he tried to act nonchalant. Mozzie routinely avoided any law enforcement office as a potential branch of the Gestapo. It was a habit he'd acquired from years of participating in protest marches.

The corner of Fei's mouth twitched, making Peter suspicious Gideon had told her of Mozzie's attitude. "That won't be necessary. The Interpol agent will meet you at Monsieur Vannier's apartment. It's also in Vieux Lyon and only a few blocks from the hotel." She passed Peter the agent's business card. "Her name is Raquel Dubois. When you're ready to meet with her, give her a call. She's expecting to hear from you today."

"I assume there's been no sign of Chad Lawson?" Sara asked.

Neal snapped a glance at her, apparently uncomfortable about the question, but Peter was glad she asked. Like it or not, as long as Chad was at loose, Neal would be a prime target.

"I checked with the police before picking you up, and there have been no reports of him or any unusual criminal activity," Fei said calmly as if she'd expected to be asked. "Security was taken into account when I made the reservations. Your rooms are all close together on the same floor. Professor Carter, you'll be staying in a two-bedroom suite with the Gilmans. Professor Atwood and Miss Ellis have adjacent rooms. The suite has a living area where you may confer in private. The only other appointment you have for the day is in the evening. The United States Consul is holding a black-tie dinner in the dining room. You are all to attend as guests of Mr. Talmadge."

Thus the need for tuxes. Peter could have easily left his at home but he noticed how Sara's eyes sparkled at the news as she exchanged smiles with El.

As they drove into the historic district, it was as if they were in a time machine traveling back to the Renaissance and the era of Heinrich Agrippa. Their hotel faced onto a cobblestone street so narrow only pedestrians were allowed. The four buildings which made up the Cour des Loges were of varying ages, some dating back to the fourteenth century. The lofty lobby was ringed with arcaded walkways leading to the rooms.

When they entered their suite, it only took one look at the antiques and Renaissance-inspired tapestry on the wall for El to comment, "I can see I need to accompany you on more of your field trips."

"This is nothing like a field trip," he snorted. "You must remember my complaints about the leaky tent on my last expedition."

She glanced at Neal who was taking his bag into his bedroom. "Perhaps Gideon originally intended this to be a vacation after the events on Merope. I hope we're able to enjoy it."

Peter shared her concern. An occasional wince was the only sign Neal gave, but he'd admitted to them that the headaches were continuing. They served as a constant reminder of the alien compound within him. But if Neal didn't reference it, Peter wouldn't either. Speculating about what damage it might be causing wouldn't help anyone.

Everyone was anxious to inspect Philippe Vannier's apartment. When Peter called Raquel, she suggested meeting at three o'clock. The apartment was a short walk away. Along the route were numerous traboules. Neal and Sara were not familiar with the feature so Peter stopped to explain the covered passageways and staircases which interlinked buildings in the central part of the city. When he was a grad student, he'd assisted at a dig at the Roman ruins in Lyon. He and his fellow students had delighted in exploring the hidden passages. They'd been built throughout the city's long history with the oldest ones dating back to the Romans.

Vannier had a one-bedroom apartment in an apartment block which appeared to be from the eighteenth century. When Peter rang the doorbell, a movie star was there to greet them. Okay, maybe not an _actual_ movie star, but she could have been one. He would have been amused at Neal's gulp if he weren't doing the same. Sara was the only one who appeared immune to the devastating charm of Raquel Dubois.

She had a beauty which verged on the inhuman with hair the color of flaxen wheat and smoldering violet eyes. Peter didn't realize eyes came in that color. Raquel insisted they call her by her first name, and once Peter got his mouth shut he was able to go along.

Diana must have alerted Interpol that Neal could be targeted as Raquel was especially solicitous of his safety.

"Keep my business card handy at all times," she told him in a honeyed heavily-accented voice. "If you have any concerns, do not hesitate to call me." She jotted a note on the back of the card. "This is my personal telephone number for after hours." Turning to the rest of them, she added, "The apartment has already been thoroughly searched. Aside from the signs of the struggle, we have found no clues to identify the killer or indeed any signs of cult activity. What is it you are looking for?"

"Nothing much," Mozzie said, jumping in before anyone else could answer. "Philippe and I were friends. I'd written him a letter and hoped to retrieve it. I'm sure you have many more important matters to attend to."

" _Au contraire_ ," she murmured in dulcet tones. "My time is yours. Please allow me to assist."

He shrugged. "In that case, a thorough search of the bedroom is warranted. Philippe often liked to read his correspondence in bed."

"I'll help," Sara said. "We'll make quick work of this." She had her jaw set in a determined line.

Mozzie beamed his appreciation at her. "Thank you, Sara. When you're done, don't forget to check the kitchen. Many an absent-minded professor has left his research notes in a Dutch oven only to have them inadvertently turned into a bouillabaisse. Don't let that happen to us! Neal, please assist them. Remember it will be a blue aerogram."

Neal gave him a puzzled look, but Mozzie waved him off. "Oh, and close the door behind you. I need quiet to concentrate."

What game was Mozzie playing? There were a couple of bookcases in the bedroom, but the living room had been converted into his office. Between the desk and the bookcases, there were far more areas to search. Peter held his peace till the door was closed. "Explain yourself," he ordered, keeping his voice low.

"I don't trust her," he murmured back.

"That's a bit much. Simply because she's from Interpol, you think she has some nefarious purpose?"

"No, or not just that, although she's far too attractive to be a detective."

"What are you suggesting? That she's a cult priestess?"

"Possibly. Further research will be needed. In any case, I don't want her to know if we find the manuscript fragment Philippe bought. I suspect it was written in Theban."

Peter had heard of the obscure alphabet. Some believed Agrippa had developed it. "Was Vannier familiar with the script?"

He nodded. "I told you Vannier was an expert on the scholar. I'm willing to bet the reason he believed Agrippa had written it was because it was in Theban."

Peter began combing through the materials in the bookcase next to the one Mozzie was searching. "Shouldn't Neal help us rather than the women?"

"He was my first choice, but it was plain Raquel was going to stay close to him. I'm not worried about Neal. Sara will keep Raquel's clutches off him. Now get to work!"

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"The manuscript fragment was in the third bookcase we searched," Peter said, tying his necktie in front of the mirror in their bedroom. "It had been inserted into a folder next to a book on Agrippa. You've never seen Mozzie move so fast. He had that manuscript stashed inside his briefcase in the blink of an eye."

El stood beside him. "Let me." She took the two ends of the tie and knotted them into a perfect bow. "Did Mozzie give any indication what the manuscript says?"

"No, I gather even he isn't able to read the Theban alphabet without a cheat sheet." He turned around to kiss her. El was wearing a sapphire-blue gown with more than enough cleavage to provide plenty of ideas for later that evening. "We'll be the best-dressed couple at the dinner."

She shrugged as she smiled. "Neal and Sara may give us a run for their money. I've seen Sara's dress. And do you remember what Neal looked like when he wore a tux for Halloween? Forget Sean Connery or Roger Moore. He won hands down the prize for the most handsome James Bond."

"Was that who he was supposed to be? I thought he was meant to be John Steed."

She laughed merrily. "You didn't tell him that, I hope."

"It was a natural assumption," Peter protested. "Sara wore an Emma Peel costume."

She rolled her eyes at him. "And she was the one who suggested his attire. That should have clued you in." She lowered her voice. "Has Neal mentioned Sara to you?"

"Of course," Peter said automatically. "All the time. Oh, you mean _that_ way."

"Exactly."

"I've stopped teasing him about their fake dating status. I assumed it was a sensitive subject. Has Sara said anything to you?"

"She doesn't need to. It's obvious."

Peter shrugged. "Maybe to you, but not to me, and certainly not to Neal."

"Should we say anything to him?"

"What? That she's interested in him romantically? You saw how he was when he found out about ymarite. His first reaction was to distance himself from us. Entering into any kind of romantic relationship must be the last thing on his mind. Besides, I don't think he's fully over Kate."

"You're probably right," El said. "I hope she understands that."

"Sara isn't the only one who has eyes for Neal. You should have seen Raquel Dubois. She was showering him with attention." He chuckled. "Apparently I don't rate."

"I'm sure that's not it. She knows you're married, and I'm a very jealous woman."

He kissed her. "Sara didn't take it well either. I thought she was simply being protective, but based on what you said, there could be more to it."

"Poor Sara! Is Raquel a looker?"

"Oh, yeah, and then some."

"Hmm." She stood back and put her hands on her hips. "I need to meet her and make my own evaluation."

"Unless something else turns up, I doubt you'll have the opportunity. I don't expect we'll see her again."

"That must be a comfort to Sara." El glanced at her watch. "Neal's still dressing. Mozzie and Sara aren't due to arrive for a few minutes. Plenty of time for you to fill me in on the Theban alphabet."

They sat down on the sofa in the sitting area and Peter gave a brief explanation of the arcane script. "The Theban alphabet may have been invented by Agrippa although some believe he learned it from his teacher in the occult, Johannes Trithemius. Cyphers were very popular back then and were considered to have mystical significance. In addition to his interest in cryptography, Trithemius was known for his expertise in steganography."

El laughed. "And doctors are accused of using abstruse terms! Enlighten me, professor."

Peter struck his lecturing pose. "Steganography is the art of hiding messages. It can be by means of invisible ink or secreting a message under an image, wax, or some other material. Early printers sometimes used different typefaces to obscure a message."

"It sounds like something out of World War II."

"It was certainly used then, but the ancient Greeks practiced the skill as well. Agrippa studied with Trithemius. Mozzie contends that since he was having visions about the armillary sphere and wrote about the messenger, he likely would have encrypted any revelations. The Church frowned upon occultists. Agrippa himself was hounded by the Inquisition."

El nodded thoughtfully. "Mozzie said the letter he'd received from Vannier described an encounter Agrippa had with a Celaenian. No wonder a shapeshifter appeared as an angel to him."

"Since he was a shapeshifter, the Celaenian may have sprouted wings. Perhaps he wanted to project himself in a manner that would have been understandable to Agrippa."

"Gideon explained that Celaenians visited Earth several times hoping to find members of our race they could instruct."

"And now we're attempting to find the artifacts they left behind. Let's hope we perform up to their expectations." El had touched on a key point. The Celaenians' previous attempts had, as far as they knew, all been failures. Had they decided to give Neal a series of tests to determine his worthiness? Were the lion and serpent mentioned in the message meant to be a trial by fire? If that were the case, they might try to separate him from their group, and that Peter was determined to prevent. If they wanted Neal, they'd have to accept a package deal.

* * *

 _Notes: Neal suggested that a friend of his, Raquel Laroque, be cast for the part of Raquel Dubois. He didn't clue Diana in on any hidden motives, but she can think of several._

 _Diana was deluged with ideas for Neal and Sara from those sneaky matchmakers Henry, El, and June while Neal and Sara have been making their own set of suggestions. Peter and El's discussion about Sara smacks of Henry's influence. He's convinced that New York Neal won't attempt to date Sara until he's free and clear of the Mansfelds' machinations. He hopes New York Sara takes the hint about the need to be patient. I wrote about the intrigues going on behind the scenes in my latest blog post, Clueless in Arkham.  
_

 _Meanwhile there are several messages to Rolf in this chapter. Peter expounding on the Theban alphabet is part of the plan to tempt Rolf Mansfeld who is known to be fascinated by cryptography. The last paragraph is a particularly overt signal._

 _Happy New Year to all! I hope you'll join me next week for Chapter 4: Hidden Passages._

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
 _Chapter Visuals: The Lion's Lair board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	4. Hidden Passages

**Chapter 4: Hidden Passages**

 **Lyon. Thursday, November 27, 1975.**

Neal heard a knock on the door of the suite as he was slipping on his tuxedo jacket. He walked into the living area to find a room steward pushing a serving cart with Dom Perignon on ice and five glasses. The accompanying card was from Fei Hong, explaining she'd meet them downstairs at dinner.

Mozzie and Sara strolled in as the steward was uncorking the bottle. Mozzie had brought along a gold brocade ascot and matching vest to wear with his tux, but he couldn't hold a candle to Sara who was wearing a slinky scarlet cocktail dress with spectacular diamond hoop earrings.

"Are those diamonds genuine?" Neal asked. "If so, the newspaper must pay better than I realized."

"Yes, they're real, and no, the newspaper pays me a pittance of what they should. Fei Hong lent them to me, courtesy of Gideon."

"He supplied mine as well," El said, smoothing back her hair to better display a magnificent pair of diamond and sapphire drops. "We'll do Arkham proud tonight."

"Did you find anything helpful at the medical examiner's office?" Mozzie asked after they'd helped themselves to champagne and taken their seats.

El nodded. "Traces of blood were found under Vannier's fingernails, most likely indicating he'd scratched his assailant. We performed an analysis and the blood contains a rare selenium compound. Selenium is present in blood in minute amounts, but this particular compound has only been reported two times to my knowledge—in the blood of Martin Keller and Chad Lawson."

"Both men were parasitized by a zoog," Sara said. "Is the compound a marker for its presence?"

"That's what Cyrus and I suspect," El said, "but it doesn't prove that Chad was the one who attacked Vannier. Any cult member who'd drunk moon-tree wine could have the same compound."

"Whether it was Chad or not," Peter said, "it's further confirmation that the cult is active in Lyon. El shared the findings with the police." He turned to Mozzie. "Were you able to decipher the manuscript?"

He nodded. "The fragment consists of only a couple of lines. Philippe had mentioned he'd found it in a box of odds and ends at a bookstore specializing in rare and obscure books. What immediately caught my eye was this." He pulled out a pocket notebook from his tuxedo jacket and drew a symbol on a fresh sheet of paper. He passed it around for the others to see. "Anyone know what this refers to?"

Mozzie had drawn a horizontal line with a small circle at the right end. Bisecting the line were two arcs, one concave and one convex. Each of them had circles at their ends. When no one could answer, his smile broadened.

"This is the symbol for Spica, the dominant star in the constellation Virgo. Not coincidentally, Heinrich Agrippa was born on September 14. That makes him a Virgo."

"You think he used this symbol as his signature?" Neal asked.

"It's the logical conclusion."

"I've never seen anything like this," Peter commented, "and I thought I knew the astrology symbols."

"It's a kabbalistic symbol," Mozzie explained. "In the Middle Ages, fifteen prominent stars were believed to have magical significance. Agrippa discussed them at length in his works on occult philosophy. He called them Behenian stars. The symbols were derived from astrology. Do you remember that letter I found from Agrippa which described a dream he had about the armillary sphere?"

"The one where the sphere was embedded with crystals of different colors?" El asked.

Mozzie nodded. "He signed it with the same symbol for Spica. I'd written about it to Philippe and he drew my attention to the Theban alphabet." Mozzie rubbed his hands. "Agrippa was not only a master of the occult but also of cryptography. He must have driven the Inquisitors crazy."

"What does the text say?" Neal asked.

"The fragment appears to be part of a letter. Agrippa wrote that an angel led him to the traboule outside his quarters. He watched as the heavenly messenger wrote something in invisible ink on the wall. When Agrippa asked him about it, the angel said it was for those who follow him." Mozzie turned to Neal. "He meant you."

"He couldn't have known about me," Neal objected.

"Why not? Einstein taught us that space and time are relative. Who's to say this Celaenian didn't travel forward in time to learn that we would be here at this precise moment?"

Neal smiled. Yet another proof, as if he needed one, that to a cosmologist, nothing, no matter how seemingly wacky, was impossible.

Peter brought them back to the present. "Do you know where Agrippa lived in Lyon?"

Mozzie shrugged. "That is the missing puzzle piece, my friends. If Philippe knew, he didn't write it down, and he never mentioned it to me."

"There are hundreds of traboules," Peter warned. "Most of them are inaccessible to the public."

"And if the Celaenian wrote it in invisible ink, we'd walk right by and not know it," Sara pointed out. She turned to Neal. "You're the only one who has a chance of spotting it."

"I don't know that we can count on it," Neal said. "The Celaenian could have used a different technique which may require certain conditions."

"No need for pessimism," Mozzie chided. "The Celaenian meant for you to read it. Perhaps you'll have a vision when you get close. We have many avenues to explore. Surely somewhere in the city records there's a mention of Agrippa's domicile."

"We could stay with you tomorrow to help in the search," Peter offered.

Neal shook his head. "There's no need for that. You planned to meet your colleague tomorrow. We can extend our stay if necessary."

El stood up and placed her empty champagne glass on the serving cart. "I propose we take a break from Agrippa and obscure codes. It's time to pause and celebrate Thanksgiving. This is a year we have much to be thankful about."

Neal concurred heartily with the sentiment. His life had been transformed over the year. Alien messages and ymarite wouldn't cause him to squander a chance to celebrate with those who'd become so close to him.

The restaurant was in a lofty enclosed courtyard surrounded on all sides by arcaded passages resembling Lyon's traboules. Fei Hong met them downstairs and introduced them to some of the financiers and bankers who were attending the event. She acted as Gideon's deputy on his finance transactions, and her cachet appeared to be as platinum as his. Fei sat with them during dinner. This would be their last time to see her as she was scheduled to return to London the next day.

The table sparkled with Limoges china and Baccarat crystal. Mozzie was in his element, having been given free rein with the wine list. The meal began with oysters in champagne sauce and chestnut velouté. Neal made careful note of the turkey to tell June—it had been roasted with black-truffle butter and served with a cognac sauce. Instead of stuffing they had savory pain perdu. No one missed pumpkin pie when they could have ginger pumpkin tart. A string quartet played throughout dinner.

They stayed, lingering over coffee and cognac, till the musicians stopped playing. Neal had been sitting next to Sara throughout the evening. When the others headed back to their rooms, she didn't look eager to call it a night, and he knew he wasn't. "Would you like to take a walk?" he asked.

"I'd love it," she replied. He hoped her enthusiasm wasn't simply because she wanted to be his bodyguard.

They retrieved their coats and headed out to experience Lyon after dark. The narrow streets were filled with the late-night crowd. They made the streets seem warm and inviting. By day, Vieux Lyon looked medieval. When the lights came on, the mood turned romantic. Many couples were strolling arm in arm. It was easy to imagine they were a couple as well as they took in the sights and sounds.

They crossed a bridge over the _Saône_ River to gaze back at the illuminated quai, with the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière a bright beacon on the hill behind it. The Roman ruins Peter had excavated were close to the Basilica, but Neal wasn't thinking about archaeological digs.

In Arkham, he'd resolved to put aside any ideas of romance. But now he found himself challenging why he needed to. The ambiance was magical. Should he continue to wait for a more secure future which might never come? Did he really want to remain in denial, not knowing if Sara was even interested in pursuing anything? She'd never looked so desirable. If he didn't take advantage of the moment, he'd regret it for the rest of the trip.

As they stood by the river, he slipped his arm around her. She didn't appear to mind. Her skin was flushed, her lips parted.

"Sara, I—"

"Quick, kiss me!" Before Neal could respond, she grasped his face in her hands and smothered him in a kiss which lasted and deepened.

His heart racing, Neal responded with equal ardor. Forget propriety. This is what he'd been dreaming about. He strove to put all the desire he felt for her into that kiss. To explain what he'd hesitated to say. How if it weren't for his precarious situation, he would have asked her out. How he'd longed for this opportunity. He wrapped his hands in her hair, not wanting to ever release her.

"Put up with me a little while longer," Sara murmured in his ear. "Chad's down the street."

His heart fell with a thud onto the pavement. It was just an act. She didn't mean it. He slammed the brakes on his emotions. "Did he see us?"

"I don't think so. Wait, he's turning. He's going to walk right past us. Sorry, we'll have to continue the pretense."

Right. That's all it was. A stupid charade. Neal smothered her in a kiss, while he pulled her hair forward so no one could see her face. She was simply protecting him. Frustration kicked out passion, turning his pent-up emotions into roadkill.

Sara pulled back. "He's gone now." She appeared breathless. Good. Even if it was because of Chad, not him, the thought acted as a salve to his bruised ego.

"We need to go back and call the police," Neal said, raking his hair off his forehead. Sara had entwined her fingers in it, making it a disheveled mess. If he were alone, he would have tried to follow Chad, but he couldn't expose Sara to the risk.

She nodded agreement, looking at him uneasily. "I hope you didn't get the wrong idea. I'm sorry for coming on so strong."

Neal laughed it off. "You were a good actress. You had me fooled for a moment."

Anxiously he waited for her answer.

She tossed him a flippant smile. "You weren't so bad yourself. If I didn't know you so well, I would have wondered. I'm sure we deceived anyone who saw us."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal set a rapid pace back to the hotel. Hampered by a tight dress and heels, Sara struggled to keep up. She was becoming more frustrated by the moment.

Once he stopped to wait for her. "Am I going too fast for you?" he asked politely. His tone was formal, courteous, and devoid of emotion—acid to her already raw feelings. She was angry at him and furious at herself. If she didn't lash out at something, she was going to explode and Neal was the convenient target. Why couldn't he have been more appreciative? She was simply trying to protect him.

"Not at all. I wondered why you were creeping along." Her words smarted as they came out of her mouth. She flinched inwardly at their harshness, but it was too late to take them back.

Neal set his mouth into a hard line and turned away, not uttering a word. Sara sensed he would have gladly bolted for the hotel without her.

She consoled herself that she was lagging behind to keep an eye out for Chad, all the while kicking herself where it hurt most for making such a hash of things.

The dinner had been a dream, and their stroll afterward sent her soaring high into the stars. They'd seemed like a real couple, giving her hope that if she were just patient, despite the threats swirling around them, they could move forward.

He'd even slipped his arm around her waist. The touch of his hand was electric. There was no need for him to do that. It wasn't like his students were around and they needed to pretend they were dating. But then she went and spoiled everything. Rushing in and kissing him like that . . . her cheeks burned with embarrassment at the memory. He must have been appalled. And to make matters worse, she got so carried away, she forgot to mention the reason why for a long minute.

It was obvious what he was thinking. She'd become a piranha. Kate had been dead for less than a year and already she was swooping in even though she'd promised herself to give him the space he needed to heal. Her eyes blurred with tears. Now she'd have to start back at the beginning. Or worse. He might keep her in the penalty box for months, years even.

This should be a lesson. _Maintain your professionalism. You're an investigative journalist, not a sappy, love-struck teenager._

She stared at the back of his overcoat as she struggled to keep up. She had no idea he was such a good actor. His kisses turned her insides into hot jelly. It would be so easy to think he meant them.

Was there any chance he did? After all, he'd made the first move by holding her close—Sara brought herself up short and banished those thoughts. Cool professionalism. Investigative journalism. Focus on Chad. She groaned aloud.

Neal paused at the sound. "Are you okay?"

That same polite, distant tone. At least he didn't look angry at her. "I was just thinking about Chad."

"I'm sorry. I should have been more sensitive. You initially liked him. This must be difficult for you."

She felt her face redden. Did he appreciate how insulting that was? This was a man who'd kidnapped her. How could he possibly think she was—she stopped, aghast. That wasn't it. Neal was reflecting on what bad choices she'd made in men. Who could blame him when it was the truth? She'd been attracted to Chad before she realized what a creep he was. Neal was so much better than anyone else and now he hated her. "He's ruining our lives!" she wailed, not minding how desperate her voice sounded. "I'm sorry for coming on so—"

"Hey, it's okay," he said gently. "No harm done."

No physical harm maybe. But to her heart? Sara trudged glumly back to the hotel, racking her brain on how to repair the damage.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

As they mounted the stairs to their floor, Sara couldn't have said more than two words to him. Neal reproached himself for daring to think she could be interested in him. She was Kate's best friend. She probably thought he was dishonoring Kate's memory. Sara and he were colleagues, friends, and nothing else. Period. He'd committed a major foul by coming on so strong to her but it was probably for the best. He would have eventually. Now he knew. He could pack away any misguided thoughts of chemistry between them and dump them in the bottom of the _Saône_ River.

When they reached their floor, Sara offered to inform Mozzie while he called Raquel. She couldn't wait for an excuse to distance herself from him. Message received loud and clear.

The living area of the suite was empty. He heard faint sounds coming from behind the closed door to Peter and El's room and groaned. Odds were those mattress creaks weren't caused by them standing on the bed having a pillow fight. More spectacularly bad timing. Neal slammed the door shut, shouting in their general direction, "It's just me," and busied himself calling Raquel.

She'd invited him to call her at any time. He hoped he wasn't wrecking her date night at well. When he called the number of her home telephone, she responded immediately. Raquel said she'd contact the police to start a search. She also promised to arrange for extra security at the hotel.

Peter walked out in a robe as Neal hung up. "I heard you mention Chad. What happened?"

"Sara saw him. He was walking on the quai. She doesn't think he spotted us. He didn't act like it."

Neal went into his bedroom to hang up his overcoat. When he returned, El had entered the room. She was wearing an amethyst-colored silk peignoir—not the plush velour robe she wore at home. Her face was still flushed. Neal felt like a heel. There'd been no need to ruin their evening too. He should have retreated quietly from the suite and gone downstairs to call Raquel.

They stayed up to discuss what Chad's presence meant beside the obvious—he was looking for them.

As Neal calmed down, the clear implication was even harder to take than the scene with Sara. "Chad must be able to track me because of the ymarite."

"That doesn't necessarily follow," El objected. "If that were the case, wouldn't he have pursued you? You told us that he didn't appear aware of your presence."

"That could have been an act," Neal pointed out. "Perhaps he didn't want to do anything since Sara was there."

"Chad was most likely already in town when we arrived," Peter said. "He could have checked hotel reservations. If he wanted to find us, he wouldn't have to rely on any alien compound to do so."

Neal wasn't convinced but let the matter drop. "Raquel's concerned that Chad may be seeking retribution for the raid in Arkham. That means you're as much a target as me."

"We'll have to be doubly careful from now on," Peter said, nodding in agreement. "No more late night strolls, I'm afraid."

Not a problem—especially not with Sara. When Neal rose to go to his bedroom, El asked him if he needed anything for his head. It was a nice gesture, but an analgesic couldn't cure wounded pride and a stomped-on heart.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The next morning, the group had breakfast together but Neal picked a chair on the opposite side of the table from Sara. The hotel set out a lavish breakfast buffet in the dining room. He loaded his plate with pastries, fruit, and yogurt and tried to act unaffected by the events of the previous evening.

Chad's presence in town wouldn't change their mission. It simply added a reminder for them all to be on their guard. Peter and El would meet with Peter's archaeologist colleague at the University of Lyon. The rest of them planned to spend the day at the municipal archives in an attempt to discover where Agrippa lived.

Mozzie could help Sara with the texts which would be in Middle French or Latin. The key words of Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim would be the same in any language. Neal planned to work by himself. It was clear from Sara's body language that she preferred to be in another room, building or, better yet, continent. Since the archives measured over twelve kilometers of books, it shouldn't be difficult to maintain his distance.

Raquel Dubois walked into the dining room as they were finishing their meal. She looked elegant in a crisply tailored taupe pantsuit with white linen shirt which reminded him of something Lauren Hutton would wear.

As she strolled over to their table, Neal latched onto the opportunity her presence provided. He appropriated a chair from a neighboring table and placed it next to him. If he focused on Raquel, Sara would be less likely to think he was coming onto her. Raquel was the ideal person to reduce any tension between them.

"I have good news for you," Raquel said, giving him a warm smile. "One of the gendarmes stationed at the Lyon airport believes he spotted Chad Lawson walking through the concourse early this morning. Monsieur Lawson was heading toward the departure gates."

"Was he apprehended?" Peter asked.

"Alas, no. The detective was not able to find him at the gates. There were several planes leaving at approximately the same time. The passenger manifests are currently being examined."

The breathy accent to her English made it almost sound like she was speaking French.

"He's probably using an alias," Mozzie cautioned.

"That is our fear as well," she admitted. "At the time, all the planes at the gates were domestic flights so there was no need for him to present a passport or other identification." She turned to Neal. "You are sure it _was_ Monsieur Lawson?"

"I didn't see him. Sara did."

"I wasn't mistaken," Sara insisted, glaring at her. There was no need for her to be defensive. Raquel was simply asking for confirmation. It wasn't like Sara to be so touchy. He must have annoyed her even more than he realized.

Raquel asked about their plans. Mozzie described their research as background for a new book he was writing. Neal couldn't understand why he was so suspicious of Raquel. He'd thought after Mozzie had become friends with Diana, he'd be more tolerant of law officials. Evidently, Diana was the lone exception to the rule.

"I'd also like to visit a few of the traboules," Neal said. It was a spur of the moment decision. He _was_ interested in them, but mainly it was to give Sara more space.

Raquel smiled. "The traboules are one of the best parts of Lyon. I am fascinated by them. On previous trips I have spent my free time on their exploration. Many of the most unusual ones have restricted access. I would be happy to be your guide."

"It won't interfere with your work?"

"Not at all. In view of what happened last night, it is only prudent for you to have a bodyguard. I believe that is the expression, _non_?"

Neal ignored Sara's exaggerated eye-rolling. She should be relieved that she wouldn't feel compelled to perform the chore.

A day exploring traboules while Sara and Mozzie spent their time in the archives? Neal felt like he'd be playing hooky but he accepted her offer. Mozzie believed Agrippa could have marked any hidden message with the symbol for the star Spica. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility that he could strike it lucky.

Neal hoped that by the time he'd returned, Sara wouldn't be such a grouch. Was Raquel interpreting her glowers as jealousy? That was the opposite of the truth.

Throughout the day, Neal kept careful note of any physical sensations. Whenever he was in the presence of algolnium in its pure form, he became lightheaded. Although the sense of disorientation had become more manageable with increased exposure, the reaction was still noticeable. But as he strolled through the traboules with Raquel, he only experienced a slight dizziness from her perfume. There was nothing to indicate algolnium was present.

Neal would have scoffed at the idea of the sophisticated Interpol agent being interested in him, but it was difficult to accept any other interpretation. At Oxford, he'd been friends with some French female students. They were nothing like Raquel.

And, okay, he liked it.

After being blown out of the water by Sara, his ego was being given a gigantic boost by Raquel's attention. It was conceivable he was reading too much into it. Perhaps she was simply being solicitous. Whatever. He enjoyed flirting back.

For the past several months he'd had zero social life. His only dates had been with Sara and she was simply faking it. He didn't harbor any delusions. It was probably Raquel's way of being friendly, but there were worse fates than being escorted around town by a beautiful woman.

He was touched she'd devoted the entire day to him. It had been a while since he'd spoken so much French, and Raquel was an excellent tour guide. They'd stopped for lunch at one of the traditional Lyon _bouchons_. Neal wasn't familiar with the local bistros which specialized in meats. They dined on duck pâté and beef tripe soup while Raquel gave him an introduction to Lyonnaise cuisine.

It was late afternoon by the time he returned to the hotel. Nowhere had he found any evidence of Agrippa. Although the day had turned out to be unexpectedly pleasant, he hadn't come to Lyon to be a tourist. He hoped the others had better results.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Sara glanced at her watch for the ten thousandth time. Neal still wasn't back. What had he and Raquel been up to while she and Mozzie were performing yeoman's service in the municipal archives? Where was Neal's sense of responsibility? Unless . . . Had he been grabbed by Chad? Was Raquel a secret agent for the cult?

She tried to calm herself. Peter and El had just returned. Surely Neal would be back soon. They were delaying their reports till Neal returned but Sara was going to burst if he—

When a key turned in the lock, Sara quickly composed herself to act nonchalant.

"Any luck?" Mozzie asked when Neal greeted them.

"Nothing on Agrippa," Neal said, pulling up a chair to sit next to Peter even though Sara had saved space on the couch where he could sit beside her. "How did you do?"

What kind of hedge was that? Nothing on Agrippa implied a world of something on Raquel. Sara was beginning to despise that name. "Mozzie and I had a delightful time in the archives," she said, swallowing back her grumpiness. "By all rights, we earned a prize for our diligence." She made a dramatic pause, not looking at a certain somebody who came back with no results. "We succeeded in finding an address for Agrippa."

"The building is located on the Rue Juiverie and dates back to the fifteenth century," Mozzie added. "Obviously over the centuries, it must have undergone many renovations. We went by the location on our way back, but the concierge denied us permission to enter."

"Where is it on the map?" Neal asked, pulling his chair closer to Mozzie, and reaching into his pocket for his copy.

When Mozzie showed him the location, Neal compared it with the ones he'd visited. Sara gave him points for having marked each traboule he'd seen. The number was larger than she'd imagined. Maybe he had done something useful after all. He hadn't visited the traboule in Agrippa's building yet, raising their hopes that something significant could be found.

"We should give Raquel a call," Peter declared. "She may need to accompany us."

"That won't be necessary," Mozzie said. Sara could have kissed him. "I brought my lock picks along. I can easily gain entrance."

Peter frowned at the proposal. "Need I remind you that the last time you opened a locked door for us, we wound up being held prisoner by the Starry Wisdom cult and were tossed into a wormhole?"

Mozzie beamed. "Can we be that lucky again? Not the cult," he added hastily. "Just the wormhole bit."

Neal was smiling at them both, a cocky expression on his face. Had he already arranged something with Raquel? Sara's stomach lurched as she diverted her raging emotions onto peaceful thoughts. A serene beach. She was in a bikini, Neal in swim trunks. They were on a remote tropical paradise with Raquel nowhere in sight.

Neal pulled out his wallet and flashed them a card. "No need for special permission or lock picks. Raquel provided me with an ID from the Lyon police which verifies my scholar status and gives me clearance to visit any and all traboules."

Peter smiled as he examined it. "What I would have given to have had this when I was here as a student. You must have wrapped Raquel around your little finger to acquire it."

El shot Peter a disapproving glance. _Thank you!_ "I'm sure she was simply extending a routine official courtesy," El said. "We can explore the traboule this evening. I've only seen them from the outside, not that I'm complaining. Peter's colleague provided more than enough excitement of a different sort."

"Etienne and I've been friends since that summer in Lyon," Peter explained. "When we arrived at his office, he showed me a drawing he'd made from a newly discovered cave in the Azé complex north of Lyon. This is a well-known Paleolithic site, but up to now only tools and skeleton fragments have been found. The cave Etienne located dates back to the earliest years of the Neolithic, around 11,000 BC."

"Do his drawings of the starfish resemble the ones you'd found in Morocco?" Neal asked.

Peter nodded. "Not only that but last week he found other drawings in a side branch of the cave. Etienne had dismissed them as graffiti from a later period. The region is rich with monasteries. Cluny Abbey is only a short distance away. During the Middle Ages, monks sometimes used caves as retreats and drew scenes of their visions. But when Etienne described the drawings, they sounded so unusual, I asked him to take us there. The site which is about an hour north of here. The cave is only accessible through a narrow opening and obscured by vegetation. I can understand why it hadn't been previously documented."

"We could have used Neal's help," El added, "but Peter and I sketched the drawings to the best of our ability. Etienne promised to return with photographic equipment."

Peter placed two spiral-bound sketchpads on the cocktail table. "When sketching, I like to have a second person draw the same image. I've found invariably one of us notes details the other missed."

El was being too modest of her ability. Both she and Peter had keen eyes to be able to draw so well. When Sara asked her about it, she demurred, saying that making precise drawings was a necessary skill for a doctor.

"The same holds true for archaeologists," Peter added. "Often there's insufficient lighting. Sometimes it's not possible for the camera to capture what the eye can see."

The largest image was a bizarre-looking creature with five large tentacles on the crown of his head, a bulbous body, and two wings.

"Is there anything like that in the _Necronomicon_?" Sara asked. She'd come to accept that eighth century tome to be the font of knowledge for creatures employed by the Ymar.

"I can't remember seeing anything like it," Neal muttered, staring at it as if mesmerized.

"Nor I," Peter added. He pointed at the second image. "This, though . . . What do you make of it?"

It looked like a crudely shaped box placed on its end, but the sides weren't true, and there were too many of them.

Mozzie bent so low over the drawing that his nose almost touched it. "This is a trapezohedron!"

Peter nodded. "That's my conclusion as well."

Sara stared at it more closely. Neal had found a ruby crafted with the same unusual facet pattern at the Church of St. Jude. It had been a portal to a wormhole. Two other similar crystal portals had been discovered.

Mozzie let his imagination run wild with thoughts of the cave having been the site of an ancient wormhole. Starfish drawings were in the same cave, increasing the likelihood the creatures were associated with the Elnath. Peter said that Etienne planned to use radiocarbon dating on the charcoal to determine the age of the drawings. He advised holding off on speculation till then, although that would hardly constrain Mozzie.

When it came time to decide where to have dinner, Neal recommended one of the local restaurants on the way to the traboule. Raquel had given it high marks. Sara gave herself points for not flinching at the name.

"Food after Agrippa," Mozzie declared. "We should leave now. Are we ready?"

"Give me a few minutes," Neal said. "Raquel had invited me out tonight. I'll call her to cancel."

With a shrug as if to pretend it was no big deal, Neal explained that she'd offered to introduce him to Lyon nightlife. Sara could guarantee that wasn't the only thing on her mind.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Mozzie stood up to prepare for the evening, Sara jumped up with equal alacrity, looking like she couldn't wait to escape. She'd barely said one word to Neal throughout the discussion. They'd all agreed to meet downstairs in the lobby in fifteen minutes, but Neal knew he had to talk to her first. They were supposed to be a team but she appeared ready to bail ship. It was up to him to repair the damage.

Peter and El were still changing when he exited the suite and knocked on her door.

"Are you checking to see how late I'll be?" she asked, raising a brow.

He felt his face flush at her reference to what used to be a comfortable tease. Now it seemed like he couldn't do anything right.

"I'd like to talk with you alone if you don't mind."

"In my room? You're not worried about what Raquel may think?"

"Forget it." Frustrated, he turned to leave. There wasn't much point. She was determined to misinterpret anything he said.

"Don't go." She grabbed his hand and pulled him through the door. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Please come in."

They stood at the entrance. Neal left the door open so they'd know when the others were ready. "I wanted to apologize again for last night . . . for being too forward." He wouldn't have thought she'd be that offended. After all, she was the one who kissed him first. But he was willing to fall on the sword if that's what it took.

Sara reddened. "I'm the one who should ask your forgiveness. I'm mad at myself for behaving like an idiot."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yes, I did. I came on too strong. You must have wondered what I was thinking."

"Actually, I was enjoy—"

"You two ready?" Mozzie called out as he opened the door. "Sara, you don't even have your coat on!"

She shrugged helplessly and tossed Neal a warm smile as she darted for the closet.

Mozzie strode up, clapping his hands. "Put that coat on _now_. Agrippa's waiting!"

Agrippa had been waiting for five hundred years. What did another half hour matter? He and Sara were just at the point of arriving at an understanding. Even so, Neal felt buoyed by the little he heard. Sara wasn't angry at him for the previous night. That could only mean she'd been out of sorts about something else. And that was a hopeful thought.

* * *

 _Notes: In 1975, DNA profiling isn't available. Rue Juiverie is one of the oldest streets in Vieux Lyon and has some buildings from the 15th century. I haven't been able to find Agrippa's address so placed him there. The discussion about Agrippa's dream took place in The Locked Room. The Paleolithic caves of Azé are well known, but the Neolithic site Etienne discovered has yet to be found._

 _Diana refuses to admit to who fed her the lines for Neal and Sara. Someone appears determined to make them appear more clueless than New York Neal, and Sara, and several candidates come to mind._

 _For this week's blog post, I wrote about an interest Rolf Mansfeld and Agrippa share. The title of the post is Messages to Azathoth: Secret Codes._

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
 _Chapter Visuals: The Lion's Lair board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	5. A Tale of Two Tails

**Chapter 5: A Tale of Two Tails  
**

 **Lyon. Friday, November 28, 1975.**

Agrippa's building was a five-block walk from their hotel through the heart of the historic district. Neal wasn't concerned about Chad skulking in the shadows, but the message apparently hadn't registered with the other members of the algolnium band. Peter and Sara walked on either side of him with Mozzie escorting El a few steps behind. This trip was providing ample evidence that Neal should redouble his efforts at learning self-defense if he wished to avoid being smothered by overly solicitous friends.

When they arrived at the ancient stone structure, Neal rang the bell for the concierge. The door was opened by a woman in her fifties with a broad amiable face and pleasant smile. She had an apron on, and Neal apologized for having disturbed her at the dinner hour. She was taken aback by the number of visitors but when he explained they were researching traboules for an upcoming book, she granted them permission.

There was no elevator in the building. They walked up two flights of stairs to access the first passageway. When viewed from the inside, the traboule looked like no one had done much to it for hundreds of years. Their hope that a message could still be found was just given a gigantic boost. Corridors extended from both the third and the fourth floors to a neighboring building which abutted perpendicularly against it.

Peter and Mozzie had brought along flashlights for the group, and they were needed. The scattered wall lights did little to lessen the dim obscurity of the ancient hallways. Neal made the circuit on both the fourth and third floors to see if anything sparked a vision or dizziness. Although he walked slowly, there was nothing which leaped out at him.

"I'm not surprised," Peter commented. "You didn't sense anything special about the armillary sphere at first either."

"Let's fan out and look for Agrippa's symbol," Sara suggested. "The walls are rough and uneven. It could be easily overlooked."

She and Mozzie offered to examine the fourth floor while Neal worked with Peter and El on the passage below. They assumed the writing would have been roughly at chest level. Since humans tended to be shorter in the Renaissance, El's height was a good approximation.

Peter had the advantage in their work since he was accustomed to studying blurred and partially legible inscriptions, and he was the first to call Neal over. "What do you make of this?" he asked, pointing to some faint scratches.

"You think this is the symbol for Spica?"

"It's the closest match I've found. Do you sense anything?"

Neal shook his head, gently tracing the lines with his finger. The marks were about four feet off the floor. The wall was heavily pitted with the plaster surface crumbling away in many spots. He began to feather the wall with his fingertips. Would they detect an invisible script even though he saw nothing?

El approached them and Peter showed her what he'd found.

"Those scratches could be the arcs at the end of the symbol," she murmured.

"And these are the circles," Peter said, pointing them out. "I brought along paper and graphite. I'd like to make a rubbing of it."

Neal continued to feel along the wall, making broad swirling motions with his hands.

"Are you experiencing any reaction?" El asked.

"Possibly. I feel a little lightheaded."

"I'll fetch Mozzie and Sara," she offered.

"I'm starting to see something!" Peter exclaimed.

Neal stepped back, breathing heavily. In front of him, a line of Celaenian calligraphy was slowly forming in bronze-colored script. The intricate interwoven tracery reformed itself in his mind into English. "Go to the lion's lair on the hill that prays and place your hand on the tuft of his tail. The serpent flies overhead."

"That's the same as what was on the armillary sphere," Peter noted. "Perhaps this was meant as a backup."

Neal nodded, disappointed, as he continued to study the message. He was hoping for more than a simple repetition. When his hand hovered over the script, he could feel it attracting him as a magnet attracts iron. The urge to touch the wall was irresistible.

"Wait!" Peter said, grabbing his hand. "What if it's a portal?"

"There's no evidence of a crystal. I'm more afraid the script will vanish if I don't do something. It _wants_ me to touch it."

Peter frowned. "Okay, but if a wormhole forms, I'll be right on your heels."

In the background, Neal heard running footsteps. Mozzie and Sara had arrived and were commenting excitedly, but he tuned them out. There had to be more than those few words of text. His hand brushed the script and with that, the wall vanished.

He was now standing high in the stands of an ancient amphitheater. The pavement of the stage below was a mosaic of large circles, diamonds, and rectangles in hues of green, rust, gold, and ivory. He heard a low growl behind him. Spinning around, he looked into the eyes of a lion standing not ten feet away. The animal stared at him impassively but as soon as Neal started toward him, he turned and trotted down the steps to the stage. _Place your hand on the tuft of the lion's tail._ Neal heard the words as he followed him. Once he was on the stage, the lion—a magnificent male with a temptingly long fluffy tuft to its tail—strode to the center and sat down on a circle of green marble. The color reminded Neal of the amulet he wore. As Neal approached, he slowed down and held his hand out, palm upward. Would the lion recognize that he intended no harm? How would he react if Neal clasped his tail?

When Neal stepped onto a dark red square in front of the circle, the lion vanished. Instantly Neal was transported into an ether of swirling colors and gases. A winged serpent flew over him, its jaw gaped wide open. The fangs reminded Neal of Sornoth. _Not again._ He found himself paralyzed, helpless to defend himself against the bite which he knew was coming.

The serpent's tongue licked the air. With lightning-quick speed, it wrapped its body around Neal. Squeezing the breath out of him, the snake tightened its hold, squeezing the breath out of him. Neal felt his ribcage give way. He gave a strangled cry.

With that, he found himself back in the traboule. Taking deep breaths, he savored the flow of air back into his lungs while he caught his bearings. Peter had a firm grip on him as he swayed on his feet. Everyone was gathered around him, expecting a revelation. What was he supposed to tell them? He'd seen his future?

"Your nose is bleeding," El said, passing him a tissue. "How do you feel otherwise?"

"Not bad, considering." After a vision, he was always left exhausted, but this time it was worse. Neal leaned against the wall as he described what he'd experienced. The Celaenian script had already disappeared from sight. The message on the armillary sphere had said a serpent flew overhead. Somehow Neal suspected the serpent wasn't going to be a friend like Kaa in _The Jungle Book_ , but he wouldn't have minded a pleasant surprise.

Judging from Peter's somber expression, his thoughts were similar to Neal's. "The bit about the serpent flying overhead is a little clearer. Most likely another emissary from Azathoth. This time it's a snake instead of the leopard Sornoth. The vision was attached to the script for whoever could read it, warning them of the danger."

It could have included a few tips on how he was supposed to defend himself, Neal thought gloomily. But perhaps the vision wasn't planted by the Celaenians but had been caused by the ymarite infection. That wasn't a comforting thought. He decided not to share it with the others. They were already worried.

"Peter, are you familiar with the location?" Mozzie asked.

"That mosaic pavement sounds like the stage of the Odeon, the smaller of the two Roman amphitheaters." Peter paused to scan the group. "It's located on the hill that prays—Fourvière."

"You don't know how to fight off a monster like that," Sara said, her face taut with anxiety. "The message says you'll discover answers to your questions on the hill that prays. If the answer is to be strangled, shouldn't you stay far away?"

"Lavinia said visions could be a sign of what happens if I don't pursue a certain action," Neal pointed out. "We shouldn't necessarily change our course because of it."

"We could wait till Gideon returns," El suggested, "and seek his advice."

Peter shook his head. "Neal's right. It's impossible to know with certainty the meaning of what he witnessed, but we have no doubts about who wrote the script on the wall. The Celaenians were working to help us. This is not the time to ignore their instructions." He clapped a hand on Neal's shoulder. "We'll all feel better with some food inside us. Let's continue the discussion in that restaurant Neal heard about."

Neal was glad no one brought up what concerned him the most. If the Celaenians had left instructions for him, would he be too contaminated to receive them? Neal shoved aside the doubts. There was no point in discussing what-ifs. The route he was supposed to take was clear.

Over dinner, Peter spoke at length about the Roman ruins in Lyon. The sites were on Fourvière hill behind their hotel. It acquired its appellation of "the hill that prays" during the Middle Ages because of the number of churches clustered together. There were two Roman theaters on the hill. The Odeon was the smaller of the two. Originally it had a roof and was used for performances of music and poetry.

As for the significance of the serpent, in the _Necronomicon_ , there was only one reference to a snake. The author described it as one of the Outer Gods—in other words the Ymar—and called it Yig, the Father of Serpents. Was the serpent in his vision one of the Ymar? Or was it a servant of Azathoth like Sornoth, the saber-toothed leopard? He'd soon find out. Tomorrow morning they'd visit the ruins.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Neal!"

Peter sat upright, the horrific scene still playing out in front of him. Before he could leap out of bed, El grasped his arm and tugged him back.

"Calm down, hon. You were dreaming."

"Not this time. Neal was in my head. It was just like when he was attacked by Sornoth on Merope." He sprang up and reached for his flannel robe at the foot of the bed.

El turned on the light. "We'll check on him together."

Peter had already exited their bedroom before she finished speaking. Neal's door was closed, but he could hear muffled cries. He flung the door open to see Neal on the floor, eyes closed, grappling to free himself from the blanket he'd dragged down with him.

Peter let out a long breath. His worst fear hadn't been realized. Neal hadn't been abducted.

El switched on a light and crouched beside him. "Wake up, Neal. You're having a nightmare."

Peter joined them on the floor, wrapping his arms around him when he remained unresponsive. "Whatever you're seeing, it's not real," he murmured while trying to fix every detail of the scene he'd witnessed in his mind.

El clasped Neal's wrist and took his pulse as his struggles slowly ceased. He blinked and stared bewildered at her, his eyes slowly focusing, then relaxed against Peter's chest. "Thanks," he mumbled, breathing heavily.

El stood up and retrieved the box of tissues from his nightstand. "Your nose is starting to bleed again."

Wincing, he grabbed a tissue. "Sorry for waking you up."

"I'd already heard you in my head," Peter admitted.

Neal turned his head to scan his face anxiously. "Did you see them?"

Peter nodded, easing up on his grip.

"Who did you see?" El demanded.

"Azathoth," Peter said. "The same alien Neal saw in his earlier vision." Neal didn't say anything but slid next to the bed to lean his head back. He looked exhausted.

"You were a prisoner, trapped in the rings of that infernal machine," Peter continued reluctantly. He had no desire for Neal to relive the experience but they needed to compare versions. "Azathoth was rotating dials which appeared to compress the rings. You were calling out to me." Not lingering over the description of the torture, he added, "Standing next to Azathoth was the priest you'd described from the monastery of Leng. Black silk robe splattered with red calligraphy, a yellow silk mask."

El stared at him, shocked. "What was he doing?"

Peter shook his head. "Not now, El."

"It's okay," Neal said, reaching for another tissue. "I remember what was going on. She should know."

"He'd placed a gloved hand on the left side of Neal's chest. The glove was glowing red-hot and what appeared to be steam was rising from Neal's flesh."

"I experienced the same thing with one difference," Neal said. "Peter was behind the priest. He was in irons, being led away by the man I saw in my first vision." Neal looked up with bloodshot eyes at Peter. "You were in the fortress with me. That's why I called out to you. I don't think I knew what their plans were but I remember being terrified for what was to come."

This was no ordinary nightmare, not with him and Neal witnessing the same scene at the same time. Judging from El's expression, she realized that, as well.

It was early morning before they went back to bed. El examined Neal's chest but there was no trace of a wound and his nosebleed quickly ended. A headache was the only residual effect. It was severe enough that he accepted the medication El prescribed.

Peter declined the sleeping pill she offered him. He lay quietly, knowing that only by faking being asleep would El get any. He held out till six o'clock before getting up. He was glad he resisted for as long as he had for as soon as he stood up, El awakened.

"Don't you want to try to get some more rest?" she asked.

He kissed her. "You sleep for me. I'll check on Neal."

"I was already awake."

He smiled. They'd both been trying to fool each other.

Neal had left his door ajar. He was sleeping peacefully, no doubt aided by the soporific in the pain medication El had given him.

Peter quietly closed Neal's door and returned to his room to dress. While El showered, he retrieved their copy of the _International Herald Tribune_ which was lying in the hallway outside their door and settled in to read.

After a few minutes, he heard a light tap on the door.

"Neal?" Mozzie's familiar voice was a whispered squeak. "You awake?"

Peter let him in. "It's a little early. He's still asleep."

Mozzie frowned. "We'd agreed to take an early morning walk before breakfast. He said he'd knock on my door. What happened?"

When Peter explained what he and Neal had experienced, Mozzie's reaction was expected.

"This is Azathoth's doing."

Peter nodded. "That's our fear as well."

"Those visions he had in Arkham were of future events. This likely is too." His expression hardened. "We can't let Neal enter another wormhole alone. We need to be along to protect him."

Peter understood Mozzie's concern—they all shared it. But it wasn't like Neal simply strolled into wormholes. The only ones he'd entered had been against his will and they'd had no advance notice. As a practical matter, they couldn't follow him around everywhere he went even if he permitted it. "The message said Neal should seek answers. That implies to me a manuscript of some sort. No wormholes may be involved. We know there aren't any Celaenians around to give guidance."

"They may have left a guidebook or instructions of some sort," Mozzie conceded. "The visions of Azathoth's fortress could be unrelated to the one he had in the traboule."

Peter nodded agreement. "The scene in the Odeon reminds me of the vision he had in the Nautical Shop. It indicates the location. There was no wormhole at the Nautical Shop. There may not be one this time either."

"But if there is, one of us should enter it first. We can't let Neal face Yig, especially not in his present condition. That serpent could be worse than Sornoth—"

Neal's door opened and Mozzie fell silent. When Neal walked out, he was still in his pajamas. "I thought I heard voices. Sorry, I'm late, Mozz. Give me five minutes to change."

Mozzie waved away his apology. "Not a problem. We can postpone our walk."

Neal shook his head, making a futile swipe with his hand to smooth down his hair. "No, I'd enjoy it."

"El's still dressing. I'd like to come along, too," Peter said. "I'll be right back." _To tell her and to fetch my gun._ Mozzie was right, but threats existed on multiple fronts. The human ones couldn't be ignored.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The morning walk along the quai dispelled Neal's residual unease. When he shared the details of the nightmare with Sara over breakfast, she tried to cast it in a positive light. Perhaps the Celaenians planted the scene as a warning for what could come to pass if Neal didn't seek answers.

He was glad she didn't dwell on the elements of torture. They already knew Azathoth was evil. What concerned him the most was that Peter was also present. He hoped Sara was right, but Lavinia had warned them that the presence of algolnium in their bodies would make them more easily identifiable by the Ymar. Would their decision to disregard the warning come back to haunt them?

After breakfast, their group took the funicular to the Roman ruins on Fourvière. From there it was a short walk to the Odeon. The theater was perched high on the hill. The town with its roofs of rust and cinnabar stretched below them under a bright blue sky.

Neal directed them to the top of the tiered seating. That was where he'd stood at the beginning of his vision. The stage was a geometric mosaic of colorful stones.

Peter explained that the Odeon had been built in the second century and was used by the elite for musical performances and poetry readings. The seating capacity was about three thousand. The stones in the mosaic include red porphyry from Egypt, green porphyry from Greece, yellow marble from Africa, as well as green and violet marble from Asia Minor. The costliness of the materials was indicative of the wealthy aristocracy who lived on the hill.

Neal listened to Peter with half an ear as he watched the stage for any sign of a lion. It would have been nice to have been given more information. Was he supposed to encounter an actual lion or was the animal merely a metaphor?

"Cheer up," Mozzie urged. "As we explore, perhaps you'll have a vision of a lion attacking you and we'll know we're on the right track."

Neal winced. "Thanks for the encouragement, Mozz," and started down the steps.

"I'm sure that lion was a friendly one," El said as she followed him down the steps. "No mauling is allowed."

"Mozzie makes a good point, though," said Sara unexpectedly. "Peter, did they have gladiator fights here?"

"You're thinking the term 'lion's lair' could refer to an animal pit for gladiator contests? Then we're in the wrong spot. The gladiator events were held at a third Roman site which is on the neighboring hill of La Croix-Rousse."

"How about the stone mosaic itself?" El asked. "The pattern could contain a hidden meaning."

"Like a fractal equation of gravitational waves?" Mozzie suggested.

"You're trying to see those fractal equations from the armillary sphere everywhere," Neal scoffed. "If your theory's correct, that would indicate Celaenians built the stage."

"I concede your point. Even for me, that may be a stretch. Peter, you're the expert. What do you think the pattern represents?"

He stopped to study the squares, circles, and diamonds which made up the mosaic. "It resembles a puzzle. The Celaenian may have taken advantage of it to incorporate it in their instructions. Neal was guided to stand in the center circle which is approximately the same color as his amulet. Is that simply a coincidence?"

"How would they have known Neal would have an amulet?" El challenged.

Peter shrugged. "For an entity composed of pure energy, I wouldn't discount anything. Mozzie's theory of time travel could be accurate."

"The message reminds me of the Anglo-Saxon riddles I assigned to my students," Neal admitted as he stepped onto the stage. "I received my directions last night. The lion stood on the circle in the center. I should do the same."

It was with some trepidation that he approached the central green circle, a fear that was reflected in the faces of his companions. But it was needless. When he stepped first on the red square in front of it and then the circle itself, nothing happened. No lion, no serpent, no wormhole. It was rather a letdown. Not that he wanted to be strangled by a snake, but still . . .

"Place your amulet on the circle," Peter suggested. "Perhaps that will activate it."

Neal pulled the disk out from under his shirt and slowly took it off. It was rare that he took it off these days, and he felt exposed without it around his neck. He crouched down and placed the amulet, first face up then face down on the circle. Still no lion. "Anyone see any lairs?" he asked.

"How about one of those ruins off to the left?" Sara asked. "They look like they could be pits. Peter, what were they used for?"

"The rooms were devoid of furnishings and unmarked, so we can only speculate. The consensus is that the one closest to the stage was used as a green room by musicians and poets."

"If this had been an amphitheater used by gladiators, animals might have been kept there," El said. "We should check it out."

Peter led the way to the chamber. The stone walls were originally eight feet tall but pieces had crumbled away. There was no roof. The room was roughly fifteen feet long and ten feet wide. The rough stone floor was unmarked by any pattern. No lion sculptures to be seen.

"It's possible the roof still existed in the 1500s during Agrippa's time," Peter said. "Back then it could have looked more like a lion's lair."

They decided to go ahead and check the irregular stones for any symbol scratched on the surface—starfish, astrological, Roman, whatever.

Neal picked an empty area to start his search. There were a few niches in the walls. Peter said they were probably designed to hold votive statues of gods. He walked over to one to examine it more closely. The message on the armillary sphere had said to seek answers in Lyon. Would they be written down or appear in a vision? The Celaenians appeared to be every bit as cryptic as Meropians. Did they also have a sense of humor?

Neal squinted as he ran his hand over the rough surface of the niche, his intermittent headache returning with a vengeance. Suddenly dizzy, he braced himself against the wall and closed his eyes till the moment passed.

"You better sit down," El urged. "Let the others search."

An ominous crunch sounded as a jagged crack appeared on the stone Neal had leaned against.

Neal stared at it in dismay. He'd defaced a historical monument. Local authorities would have his hide. He approached the wall to survey the damage. "Sorry, Peter, I didn't think I'd used that much force."

Peter strode over. "The stonework is crumbling in other spots. This entire hill is subject to settling. The crack might have eventually formed anyway." He felt along the crevice. A couple of the stones were so loose, they gave way easily.

Celaenian DNA wasn't any barrier to clumsiness, Neal thought glumly. Not a good omen for going on archaeological digs.

Peter retrieved a flashlight and delicately probed the opening with a finger. "There's something metallic in the recess. No need to feel guilty, Neal. You may have found a hidden artifact."

"You think someone deliberately built a false wall to obscure it?" Mozzie asked.

Peter nodded. "The Romans sometimes buried objects—particularly religious symbols—to protect them. I'm glad I brought along my kit."

Peter unfastened a well-worn leather bag. Inside were trowels, gloves, plastic bags, levels, markers—emergency tools for any dig.

"Will the authorities be upset if we excavate it?" Neal asked.

"Not since I'm in charge," Peter said, pulling out his camera to photograph the niche. "When we met with Etienne, I explained my intention to revisit the site. He provided the authorization to make minor excavations. For something as small as this, there won't be any problem."

Under his direction, they carefully removed the stones, labeling each one with its original position. Slowly the object behind the stones emerged. It was a bronze disk roughly two feet in diameter. When Neal first saw the metal, he thought it might be similar to the bronze disk left by the Celaenians in the crypt under the Arkham cemetery. But as details emerged, it was clear it had been made by a different race. Peter said it appeared Roman. The artifact resembled a bronze wheel. It had been molded with a rounded sphere in the center. The wide border was divided into twelve panels, each one inscribed with images. A pair of fish, a couple holding hands, and a scorpion were readily identified.

"It's a zodiac wheel!" Mozzie exclaimed.

Peter nodded confirmation. "I've seen similar wheels on mosaic floors. The center knob represents the sun."

"In that case, one of the signs must be the lion," Neal said, his excitement mounting. "The directions were for me to place my hand on the tuft of its tail. This has to be what the message referred to."

"But what about the serpent in your vision?" Sara asked. "Wasn't that a warning?"

"I have no choice. The script on the armillary sphere was specific. Now that I know to watch out for it, I may be able to ward it off."

Peter understood. He didn't try to argue him out of what they knew was the only course to follow. Neal waited while Peter took photographs of the disk. After he placed his hand on the lion, it might disintegrate.

"Don't look so worried," he told Sara. "Somehow I don't think it's my destiny to be carried off by a flying snake."

"It better not be," she said, forcing a smile.

"Okay," Peter said, stepping back. "It's all yours."

Neal took a breath and stepped up to the wheel. The image of the lion was easy to make out. The beast appeared to be prancing, his tail stretched out jauntily behind him. Neal placed his hand on the tuft of the tail.

With a deafening crack, a rift appeared in the wall next to the disk. It expanded to be roughly two feet wide and was about six feet tall. Within the gap was only inky blackness.

The women stood in stunned silence at their first sight of a wormhole. Mozzie's mouth was open but no words came out.

"You should let me go first," Peter advised.

Neal shook his head. "The message was meant for me."

"You can't enter till we've determined it's safe." Mozzie had barely finished speaking before he jumped into the rift.

"Stop!" Neal shouted and plunged in after him.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter stared at the gap in horrified silence as it snapped shut behind Neal.

"What do we do now?" El asked, her eyes wide with shock.

Peter inspected the wall. It had reverted to its previous appearance. The zodiac wheel was undamaged. When he placed his hand on the lion's tail, nothing happened, not even a tingle. "I don't think there's anything we can do, except wait. It's likely Neal's Celaenian DNA, not algolnium, triggered the rift."

"What was it like when you entered a wormhole?" Sara asked.

"I don't have any memory of any of the trips," Peter admitted. "As soon as I entered, I lost consciousness. I expect the same thing will happen to Mozzie. Neal always remained alert except on the return trip from Merope, and that was no doubt caused by the severity of his injuries." Peter didn't voice his fears. The rift was unlike any of the other wormholes they'd experienced. Was it even a wormhole or some other phenomenon? What would be the consequences to Mozzie's action? Had he imperiled Neal's mission or performed a heroic service?

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal was projected at a dizzying speed among flashing colors of otherworldly hues he'd only experienced in wormholes. As he twisted and spun, he was helpless to exercise any control to his movement. There was no sign of Mozzie.

The passage didn't last long—only a minute or two—before he was ejected onto a beach of white sand. Neal quickly stood up and scanned the shoreline. He was standing at the edge of an ocean. The water was dark jade green in color. Bordering the narrow beach was a tall, jagged mountain range. He didn't see Mozzie anywhere.

In the sky shone two moons—luminous orbs in a sky of primrose-colored velvet. Off to his right a star as large as the sun was low on the horizon. Neal knew this scene. It was Celaeno—the beachscape he'd dreamed about. He'd later learned Gideon had planted the scene in his mind to test his readiness to hear about his past.

And now he was there.

For a moment that thought shoved aside his anxiety about Mozzie. How could he be on Celaeno? Gideon believed the planet had been quarantined after the destruction of its library. No one was allowed access. And yet here he was.

"Mozzie!" Neal strained to hear a response, but the only sound was the lapping of waves upon the beach. The light was similar to the hour just before sunset, but with the moons so bright in the sky, the planet probably wouldn't get very dark. The salt air was bracing. It conjured up memories of the Massachusetts shoreline light-years away. Both were home worlds for him now.

Neal set off along the beach. Mozzie had entered the rift before him. He must have arrived earlier as well. Gravity was lighter than on Earth. With Neal's first stride, he leaped high in the air, giving him hope he could quickly search the beach. He set off with kangaroo leaps, calling out Mozzie's name and scanning on all sides for his friend. The sea was only yards away. If Mozzie had been ejected into the water, he could have been carried away by a riptide.

A clump of rocks lay ahead. As Neal drew near, he recognized a shape. It was the figure of a man. That rust-colored corduroy jacket was what Mozzie had been wearing. Neal's heart began leaping as high as his legs that he'd found him. Despite his calls, Mozzie remained motionless.

In two giant strides, Neal was at his side. Mozzie was lying face down. Neal gently rolled him over. Mozzie was breathing easily, but his eyes remained tightly closed. He didn't appear to have any external injuries. Was his condition a consequence of inadequate levels of algolnium?

As Neal crouched beside him, darkness fell over them as if some vast cloud was obscuring light from the sun. He turned his head to look and froze.

 _Crap._

Directly over him hovered an immense winged serpent. All twenty-plus feet of it towered high in the sky, blocking out the sun. Like the snake in his vision, it possessed lilac-feathered wings. Its head was crowned with long plumes of feathers while its body was covered in iridescent scales. Another time, he might have appreciated its beauty, but this wasn't the moment.

The serpent flapped its wings, drawing ever closer. Neal placed his arms under Mozzie's shoulders and began dragging him. If he could sandwich the two of them between boulders, the creature might not have room to maneuver.

The serpent hissed as if it sensed his intentions. Its head darted down. With one scything sweep, it seized Mozzie in its jaws and lifted him high in the sky.

"Stop!" yelled Neal, hoping to spook it enough to drop him. He scooped up sand and threw it, aiming for his eyes.

His efforts were ignored. The serpent sped back over the sea as if Mozzie were his prized possession. Neal could only watch in horror. When the serpent was far over the water, it opened its jaws and dropped Mozzie into the waters below.

Without thinking, Neal ripped off his shoes and raced into the ocean. He was a strong swimmer. If he could reach Mozzie in time, he might be able to pull him to safety.

But before he swam a hundred yards, the serpent was heading his way. Neal dove under the water to escape. It followed him. The water was too shallow to make a deep dive. Within seconds, Neal felt its jaws around his waist. He was ripped out of the water and carried high in the air. At first contact with its fangs, his body went limp. The venom was acting as a paralytic. He could no longer feel anything as the serpent flew over the ocean. Neal could now see its eyes. Brilliant turquoise with vertical pupils.

After a few minutes, it stalled in place, using its wings to hover in the air. The tail began coiling itself around Neal in tight loops, starting at his feet and ending at his waist. When it had finished turning him into a mummy, it wiggled its tail in front of him like a silent rattler. Was that its warning it was preparing to strike?

The serpent released Neal from its jaws once he was bound. Making a U of its body, it curved his head to face him. They were only separated by five feet. What now? Was it going to blow poisonous venom in his face? Or did it possess some other fiendish way to torture him?

"I am not your enemy." Its voice was a low guttural hiss.

"Prove it," Neal demanded. "Release me." Why wasn't he astounded that the serpent could talk and he could understand it? Was nothing bizarre anymore?

"Not yet. You must first listen."

"Who are you?"

"A messenger."

"Are you Yig?"

It swayed its head, shaking the feathers on its crown. "You've never met Yig. If you had, you'd know it's a mockery of me. Another corruption of nature by the Ymar. You're familiar with Sornoth. It is to leopards as Yig is to my kind."

"You know about Sornoth. Can you read my mind?"

The serpent nodded his head. "Your thoughts are exposed to me."

"Then why did you kill my friend?"

"He was not meant to be here." The serpent was silent for a moment. "He is not dead."

"If he's not, he soon will be. You dumped him in the ocean!"

"Appearances can deceive. You know that. There is no ocean."

Neal looked down at the water below. "Isn't this Celaeno?"

"No. I created the planet from the image in your mind. You are still in the wormhole." The serpent's eyes blinked, and Neal's world dissolved. The ocean vanished. He was once more in limitless space, held in place by the serpent which reflected the kaleidoscope of colors around him. And there, floating next to him, was Mozzie. He appeared still unconscious but had no visible wounds.

Neal took a deep breath. He hadn't been the cause of Mozzie's death. There might be hope, after all. Then he noticed the paralysis had left him. He could move his arms once more, but he no longer wished to struggle. The serpent had relaxed the pressure it was exerting. The coils were a reassuring presence.

"I have a message for you from those you call Celaenians," the serpent said. It dangled the tip of its tail in front of Neal, bringing it right in front of his eyes. Embedded on the last scale at the tip of his tail were the distinctive arabesques of Celaenian script.

"Take it."

"What, rip the scale off your tail? Won't it injure you?"

"The scale will grow back. Take it."

Neal gingerly felt around the edges of the scale. It gave way easily as if it had barely been attached.

"That will explain the way forward. You must safeguard the armillary sphere."

"If you can read my thoughts, you know I no longer have it."

"You must reclaim it." The serpent was quiet a moment, its tongue flicking out in quick strokes. Without warning, it swiped Neal's face. Its tongue was cold and dry, but not unpleasant.

"What was that for?"

"You are injured. I tried to heal you, but it is beyond my power." It closed its eyes for a moment as if meditating. "Tell Lavinia to try _brielna_. Its roots may help."

"Are you the one who heals us in wormholes?" Neal asked.

"No, although I too have the ability."

"You know about Lavinia. You can read my mind. Can you pass messages to the Celaenians?"

"What would you tell them?" it asked, not answering him directly.

"That my friends are not their enemies. Peter, Mozzie, Elizabeth, Sara, Cyrus, June—they're all working in their own way to help safeguard Earth from the Ymar. Whatever protection the Celaenians are offering to me should also extend to them and to the Meropians as well. Lavinia and Gideon know little about what course we should take. Can you advise us?"

The serpent hesitated for only a second. "You will find guidance along the way."

* * *

 _Notes: In this tale of two tails, the Arkham Round Table hopes to tweak a third one— the Leopard's, aka Klaus Mansfeld. They'll find out if their efforts were successful in The Musicians, the next Caffrey Conversation story. I wrote about more of the hidden signals to Azathoth for the blog this week. The post is called "Appearances Can Deceive." Penna also wrote a post. Cars have been on her mind, as all of you who've read her recent story, In the Driver's Seat, can attest. Her post is called "The Cars of Caffrey Conversation."_

 _There are photos of the Odeon on the Pinterest board. Did the Celaenians have a hand in building the stage? There actually is a green disk in the center of the pavement which I find very suspicious._

 _I hope you'll join me next week for the final chapter: Buried in the Sand. Will Neal return safely? Will Mozzie be changed by his trip to the wormhole? Will Neal and Sara be able to put their past missteps and misunderstandings behind them? All will be revealed!_

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
 _Chapter Visuals: The Lion's Lair board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	6. Buried in the Sand

**Chapter 6: Buried in the Sand**

 **Lyon. Saturday, November 29, 1975.**

Peter studied the second hand on his watch as it made its circuit. A minute had gone by since the last time he checked. It had now been twenty-two minutes since Neal and Mozzie vanished inside the rift.

He'd provided a task for El and Sara to accomplish while they waited. The stone facade which had obscured the zodiac disk would eventually need to be reconstructed. The three of them had meticulously arranged the fallen stones in the exact alignment they'd had on the wall and were taking measurements of each one. The assignment wasn't enough to keep his mind from spinning in frustration. He'd quickly gained a much greater appreciation of how El and Mozzie felt when he and Neal disappeared into wormholes.

A couple of tourists had approached the site about five minutes after Neal and Mozzie disappeared. When they asked if they could visit the chamber, Peter rejected the request peremptorily, claiming they were in the midst of delicate excavation work.

The brusqueness of his voice caused El to come to the rescue. She led the tourists away while giving them an improvised presentation on the ruins. Peter regretted he'd snapped. Sara wasn't handling the strain any better than him. She'd set her mouth in a tight line and wasn't saying a word, not even asking him to speculate about Neal's location. The investigative reporter in her had gone mute.

A loud crack ripped through the chamber, making him jump. The rift had reopened.

In the midst of their excited exclamations, first Mozzie then Neal tumbled out as if they'd been ejected. Mozzie remained motionless in a heap on the floor. Neal was upright, but without shoes. A second later his shoes were tossed into the room. With a snap, the fissure closed.

As soon as Neal was thrown clear, he raced to Mozzie's side but El was already there. "How is he?" he asked anxiously.

"His pulse is within normal parameters," she assured him.

Mozzie's eyes blinked open as she was speaking. "What happened? Did I make it into the wormhole?"

Neal crouched on the floor, a smile breaking out. "You did. I was there as well. We never left it. Do you remember anything?"

"Nothing!" he said in an anguished tone and then felt the top of his head. "Still no hair!"

"How about you?" Sara asked Neal.

"No damage done," he assured her. "I was awake throughout."

Peter held up his shoes. "Is there a reason these came back separately?"

"There is."

"Does it have anything to do with a serpent?"

Neal nodded. "And this." He reached into his leather jacket and pulled out an oddly shaped translucent object about four inches high. "This is a scale off the tip of a serpent's tail."

As Neal related the events he experienced, he passed the scale around. It reminded Peter of the crystal manuscript but had an irregular polygonal shape. If Neal hadn't told them otherwise, Peter would have assumed it was crystalline in nature. The surface was covered with writing. The lines appeared much more minuscule than on the crystal manuscript.

Neal said the serpent called himself a messenger. That indicated it was in contact with the Celaenians. Was it also originally from the same planet? The experience had been supremely frustrating for Mozzie. He continued to blame himself for the loss of the armillary sphere, and now its recovery was even more vital.

For Peter, the most troubling aspect was the serpent's inability to heal Neal. No one had heard of the plant the serpent referenced. Neal's claim of feeling fine didn't carry much weight, but for his sake, they didn't make an issue of it.

Neal was eager to begin translation of the message with the aid of a large magnifying glass which Peter had brought in his suitcase. El was equally anxious for Mozzie and Neal to rest. After Peter called Etienne from a phone at the neighboring museum, she escorted the travelers back to the hotel in a taxi.

Peter was grateful Sara offered to stay with him. They'd need to remain at the site until the Lyon archaeologist team arrived to take charge of the discovery. Neal had tested the zodiac wheel before he departed. Whatever caused the rift must have been a one-shot occurrence as he was unable to reproduce the effect. Lyon authorities would be ecstatic about the discovery of what he believed to be the finest known example of a Roman bronze zodiac wheel. Sara would be able to publish an article about the discovery with the omission of only a few details. This was a chance for her to demonstrative her value as a field journalist.

By the time he and Sara returned to the hotel, the others were lounging in the living area of the suite.

Mozzie had fully recovered from the ordeal. "I grant you my first interstellar trip was an abortive one," he conceded, "but simply that I could enter the rift was a triumph of sorts. I have high hopes for the next experience."

"Your wings should be clipped after that stunt you pulled." Peter retorted, giving vent to the growls which had been threatening to erupt ever since the pair's return. "What if the rift had closed before Neal entered it? You would have ruined the opportunity."

"A mere hypothetical," he dismissed. "But if you want to engage in speculation, allow me to present one of my own. If we had encountered Yig, I could have fought him off while allowing Neal to retrieve the instructions."

"How would you have vanquished it? With your slide rule?"

"You dare mock me? Are you unaware of its lethal properties when in the hands of an expert?"

Neal was eyeing the two of them with a wide grin on his face. "I'm very lucky to have all of you. We can establish ground rules for future expeditions later on, unless no one's interested in what I learned from the serpent's scale?"

"Neal's refused to give us any details until you'd returned," El clarified. "Mozzie and I've been counting the seconds."

Sara pulled up a chair to sit close to him. "The floor is yours. Take it away, Professor."

A pad of lined paper was lying next to the scale on the cocktail table, but nothing had been written on it. When Neal saw Peter glance at it, he said, "I intended to write down the translation then changed my mind." He shrugged. "Security concerns. The text relates almost exclusively to the armillary sphere. As we already surmised, it was crafted on Celaeno. When Agrippa dreamed about an armillary sphere adorned with crystals of different colors, that was actually much closer to a vision. Those brackets we discovered on the rings of the sphere are meant to hold crystals."

"What kind of crystals?" Peter asked. His first thought was of the ruby crystals they'd already encountered, but the giant apparatus in Azathoth's fortress also contained crystals.

"They were only described as being Elnathian. That doesn't necessarily imply we'll need to travel to their homeworld to collect them, but according to this document, somehow we'll have to find them if we're to operate the sphere."

"Does it explain how to use the fractal equations inscribed on the rings?" Mozzie asked eagerly.

Neal shook his head. "Only to say that the knowledge will be revealed later."

"Were they concerned you wouldn't be up to the challenge?" Sara asked. "It's a bit cheeky of them to be so stingy."

He extended his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I should be used to this by now. That's the way Lavinia's been treating me, too."

"I can understand their attitude," El said. "To advanced races we must look like infants, unable to defend ourselves from intergalactic threats. We needed to prove ourselves worthy to Lavinia and Gideon. Apparently the Celaenians require a similar test."

Neal nodded. "In their eyes, Earthlings haven't had a good track record. The author of the _Necronomicon_ fell under the control of Azathoth. Agrippa washed out, too."

"The armillary sphere must have highly advanced capabilities which have been masked within a Renaissance instrument," Mozzie said. "It's not unreasonable to verify that whoever is entrusted with its secrets is sufficiently advanced. Neal, surely they must have given you a clue on where to look."

"The text concludes with instructions about a crystal which is needed for the center of the armillary sphere. Without it, none of the others will function properly. I'm to seek the crystal in Abydos."

"Abydos?" repeated Peter, delighted. "We were planning to go there anyway. Gideon had already arranged the funding before Lyon became a higher priority."

"It's now back at the top of the list," Neal agreed.

"Let's hope no wormhole will be needed this time," El commented.

"There's no mention of any in the text."

Which didn't mean much, but Peter wasn't about to raise that sensitive subject. A discussion about ground rules could wait till they were back in Arkham. "Abydos is where I found the starfish artifact. It's the location you were dreaming about when you sought me out in September. There are numerous Neolithic ruins."

Sara's eyes lit up. "Perhaps more evidence of the Elnath and crystals?"

Peter smiled at her enthusiasm and turned to Neal. "Does the manuscript say _where_ in Abydos we're supposed to look?"

"Where else? The altar. In the dreams I'd had over the summer, I picked up a starfish on the altar. I didn't see any crystal, but it must be there as well."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

No nightmarish visions plagued Neal's dreams that night, and it was a good thing since they were on a tight schedule the next day. Breakfast was a rushed affair. Sara's flight would leave a couple of hours before theirs. After seeing her off, Neal planned to take one last walk along the quai.

When he knocked on Sara's door, she'd already finished packing.

"It's not necessary for you to carry my suitcase downstairs," she said. "I could have managed."

"I realize that. I have a healthy respect for your ability in many areas. You're an expert in judo. Have you taken up weightlifting as well?"

"No need. I'll just lug my suitcase around. But I'm glad you mentioned judo. Our lessons will continue as soon as I get back."

"I'll let you off the hook. You'll be too busy packing for London."

"More likely I'll have enough time to give you daily workouts," she retorted. "At the end of my interview, they'll tell me to come back in a few years."

"That won't happen," Neal said firmly. "They'll want to sign you up on the spot." Sara didn't look as pleased with his words as he would have expected. "What's the matter?"

"I should have withdrawn my application. Soon you'll travel to Egypt. You know I want to go, too."

"You may still be able to," he said, seeking to reassure her. "You shouldn't close doors till you've heard what they propose. This is the dream opportunity you've been longing for."

"Dreams can change," she said, looking unexpectedly wistful.

Was she referring to her job or the two of them? After his last abortive attempt, Neal had promised himself to not indulge in any romantic speculation. His own situation was far too precarious. Dreams about the future would need to wait till he'd gotten rid of the ymarite. Once he was healed and they'd regained the armillary sphere, he'd be on much firmer turf.

The hotel phone rang. It was the front desk, saying the taxi had arrived. Neal lifted the suitcase from the luggage rack and carried it to the door while Sara slipped on her trench coat.

"London awaits!" he said, trying to inject as much excitement as he could muster.

"I'll only be gone a couple of days. You'll avoid any wormholes?"

"I'll do my best." He hesitated. "I wish . . ."

She stopped, her hand on the doorknob, and turned back to him. "You wish what?"

He bit back the words he wanted to say and instead mumbled inanely, "Good luck and safe travels." _Coward_. _You can do better than that._ He tried again. "Seeing you in your trench coat, I feel like we've landed at the end of a showing of _Casablanca_. We each have our mission." Brave words. For her sake, he wished he meant them.

She crinkled her nose. "I never liked the ending to that movie." She looked expectantly at him for a moment, not saying anything. Taking a breath, she said, "Okay, I really do need to leave."

Neal hated the ending of that movie, too. To hell with rational thinking. It hadn't gotten him anywhere. He strode over and kissed her. He intended it to be one quick kiss, but his heart had other thoughts.

And Sara's did as well.

After a few months—or years, it was hard to tell—the phone rang again. "That's your taxi," he murmured, not taking his hands off her. "We should leave."

"Forget the plane." She pulled his face toward her with both of her hands.

"You can't," he said, after another long moment, getting a grip on himself. "This is too important."

"I'll only be gone a few days. You'll save my place?"

"You don't have to ask."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After that send-off, Neal was in the clouds before the plane took off, and he hadn't quite descended to earth by the time they landed.

He moved back into the loft when they returned to Arkham despite Peter and El's concerted efforts to have him move in with them. Lavinia bolstered his case by not raising any objections. Instead, she made a cryptic non-statement about how Gideon would address safety concerns upon his return the next day. She also advised holding off on any discussion of Neal's experience in the wormhole until then.

At Neal's mention of the messenger's advice to try brielna to counteract ymarite, her only response had been a grunt. Sometimes Neal fantasized about her being a student in his class where he could bring her to task for her non-participation. Did she honestly think that sending him home with Ch'uli and telling him to rest was an adequate reply?

Ch'uli, unlike her mistress, had plenty to say. She chattered at him throughout the walk home, but he still couldn't understand her. She seemed sensitive to his moods and he to hers, but not much more so than with Satchmo and Betelgeuse. The only images she sent him were random ones. The first night he was back, he was awakened by an image of June's ceramic gator cookie jar flashing in his mind. When he found cookie crumbs in the bed the next morning, he wasn't surprised.

June was an unexpected participant when their group met at Cyrus's chemistry lab the following evening. She explained that Lavinia had called her, requesting her presence. Mozzie, Cyrus, Peter, and El were also in attendance. Gideon and Lavinia arrived last. With them was the Meropian scientist Lavinia had mentioned would be helping them.

Gideon introduced Pagna Desai to the group. She appeared to be around thirty and was dressed casually in jeans and a turtleneck with dark shoulder-length hair.

"I specialize in harmonics," Pagna explained. Her voice had a slight Hindi lilt. "It's a discipline which I believe is unfamiliar on Earth. You may prefer to think of it as wave dynamics."

"Could you be a little more specific?" Peter asked.

"The science of wave dynamics has advanced far beyond what you're familiar with, but I'll do my best. Waves are fundamental to the understanding of wormhole physics"—she glanced at Mozzie—"what you call gravity waves. Every organic substance resonates with a distinctive wave pattern which can be used to identify it. The pattern is a complex harmony of frequencies and rhythms."

"Pagna's specialty will be essential as we move forward," Lavinia added. "She'll stay in Arkham for the indefinite future."

"Is there any free space in the building for my lab?" Pagna asked. "I already transported most of my equipment. They've been disguised to resemble instruments of your time period."

"The astrophysics lab would be a good fit for you," Mozzie declared. "It's down the hall from my office. My assistant Travis will help carve out an area for you." He studied her for a moment, his lips pursed. "Your cover will be that you're a doctoral student from Bombay. Over the summer I was at the Tata Institute of Fundamental Research in that city, working with Jayant Narlikar. Jayant and I have a close relationship. I doubt there will ever be any questions, but he likes a good joke. He wouldn't mind muddying the waters if necessary. I'll tell Travis you're engaged in gravity wave research."

"An excellent solution," Gideon said. "Although we don't have the armillary sphere, we have Neal's copy of the equations. Mozzie, you'll want to work closely with Pagna."

An unnecessary statement. Herds of rampaging nightgaunts wouldn't be able to keep him away.

"She'll need a place to stay," June said. "I have a guest suite on the second floor which Pagna's welcome to."

"Thank you," Lavinia said, with a rare smile. "I'd hoped that would be possible. Pagna will also be able to help with security."

Neal eyed her warily. Was she a ninja fighter or did she have some other ability?

"I have instruments which are able to detect and analyze wormholes," Pagna explained. "Given your past history, they could be useful. My first task will be to capture Neal's harmonics so we'll be able to track him if there's ever a need."

"And not only that," Gideon added. "Pagna should be able to discover the location of the armillary sphere by searching for the signal of the marker I'd embedded on it."

"Can you detect crystals?" Neal asked.

"Only if they're organic," Pagna said. "That gem in your amulet, for instance. What do you call it?"

"We gave it the name of celaenite," Cyrus said.

"An apt term. It started off its life as a plant on Celaeno."

"Crystals grown from plants . . ." Cyrus said, musing aloud. "Fascinating. We have nothing similar on Earth."

"Your knowledge is incomplete," Lavinia countered brusquely. "The Elnath grew crystals from plants on Earth. The crystals Neal saw in his vision of Azathoth's machine are likely Elnathian, just like the ones meant for the armillary sphere."

"And this?" Peter pulled out the drawings he and El had made in France. "The object appears to be a crude depiction of the ruby crystal portal we've encountered." He passed it around. "There was also a drawing of this creature. If the crystal is grown by the Elnath, could this be what they look like?"

All three Meropians studied the drawings of the creature, demanding details of the cave's location. The five thick tentacles on the crown of its head invited speculation that the species was somehow related to starfish.

"We know very little about the early Elnath civilization," Lavinia admitted. "We've seen holographic representations of the Elnath which are similar to the drawings. It's tempting to speculate an Elnath center was near this cave."

"Do you have any records indicating where the Elnath grew crystals on Earth?" El asked.

"Most likely in underground caverns," Gideon replied. "The plants which produce crystals don't need light to survive."

"The serpent told me to seek the central crystal for the armillary sphere in Abydos," Neal said. "Can you provide any additional information?"

Gideon smiled. "No, but you did. You discussed it with Zophar."

"I did?" Neal said, astonished. He had no childhood memories of the Meropian who was his father. His earliest recollection was when he was eight years old. Zophar had assisted his grandfather Andrew and his mother. He probably was a frequent visitor to their household when Neal was a young boy.

"When was this?" El asked.

Gideon directed his answer to Neal. "Zophar reported to the council that your grandfather Andrew began having dreams of Abydos after he returned from Tirelia with the armillary sphere. Zophar didn't know what to make of them and asked the council if they knew of any connection. Egypt was one of the strongholds for both the Elnath and Ymar. When Andrew worked with Laban Shrewsbury, they excavated a tomb at the Abydos necropolis. The council suspected that might be the reason and dismissed any deeper significance. When I spoke with Zophar before he returned to Earth for what was to be the last time, he mentioned Abydos. You'd also begun dreaming of that ancient land. Zophar was convinced that was no coincidence but he had no theories on what the dreams meant."

"They could have connected to the armillary sphere," Peter speculated.

Gideon nodded. "Based on Neal's previous visions, it's my belief that Celaenians planted those dreams to encourage both Neal and Andrew to go to Abydos. The Celaenians were indicating the route to follow, just like they had in the traboule in Lyon."

Gideon turned to Neal. "After I found you in Providence, we closed the open wormhole, then Lavinia arrived. You never mentioned the armillary sphere. You may not have known that Andrew had hidden it in your house for safekeeping."

"You told me that you'd caused me to dream of Abydos last summer," Neal said. "Why?"

"That was my suggestion," Lavinia interjected. "I knew about the dreams and was convinced they were significant. My hope was that they might spark a connection."

Gideon reached into his briefcase and brought out several sheets of heavy paper. "I found several drawings in the file on Zophar which was recently discovered on our home base. Zophar had written a note, explaining you'd made them. You'd told him about a starfish which you'd placed on a table."

Neal grabbed the sheets from him. They were done in crayon but seemed much better than what a child of seven or eight would have made. Was that because of his alien heritage? "It's the altar I saw in my dreams."

Peter strode over to stand beside him and scanned them eagerly as well. He pointed to a cliff in one of the drawings. "Neal described this to me the first day we met. That's when I knew he was talking about Abydos. Note the unusual profile on the side of the cliff. It looks like the head of a hawk. In this drawing, you can barely recognize it. In the series he drew for us in the fall, it was much more detailed."

"Zophar hadn't mentioned the shape of the cliff to me," Gideon said. "I only had a general impression of what the terrain looked like and used that for the scene. Neal must have constructed the rest on his own."

Something he'd remembered from his early childhood? Neal hoped that was a sign that someday his other memories would return. He longed to remember even a few snippets about his mother and his grandfather. Perhaps then the alien who'd sired him wouldn't seem so remote.

"We can use the sketch to find the approximate location of the altar Neal drew," Peter said. "I'm certain there's nothing visible now. It must be buried beneath the sand."

Mozzie held up one of his other drawings. It showed a starfish. "Notice how even at this early age Neal drew the curled tadpole-ends of each appendage and you can even see the marks of the starfish script." Mozzie beamed at him. "You were a prodigy even then."

The drawing wasn't that great, but Mozzie appeared ready to stick it on his refrigerator. It reminded Neal of what an encouraging force Mozzie had been when he was a kid.

"Are the marks actual symbols?" El asked.

Neal studied the starfish. A few squiggles drawn with a crayon could have been anything. "I must have seen some pattern but didn't remember the details."

"It doesn't matter," Peter said. "We have the drawing you made of the starfish to show me the first day we met, and of course, we still have the artifact."

Neal held up the final sheet. "There's also this." He'd drawn a crystal with a green crayon. It was the only drawing which included the altar. Streaking lines radiating from the object were probably his attempt to show it glowed with energy.

"It was only when Lavinia described the messenger's instructions that I realized its significance," Gideon said.

Neal nodded. "I'm positive this is the celaenite crystal I'm meant to find. The object that will turn the armillary sphere into a machine capable of manipulating time and space."

"If only we had it," Mozzie said with a moan.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter slept better that night than he had in a long time. Neal hadn't experienced any new visions nor had he. Pagna was working with El and Lavinia on an antidote to ymarite. Once that happened, the nightmares of Azathoth's fortress might disappear for good. Now that Pagna had moved into June's house along with her monitoring equipment, Neal was safer than ever before.

The following morning when Peter exited from his seminar on the Minoan civilization, he found Neal waiting outside the door. They planned to have lunch at the faculty club together. The walk through the quad gave Peter the opportunity to check up on Pagna. "How's it going with your new housemate?"

"I haven't seen much of her. She stayed at the science building through the night to set up equipment and only came to June's as I was having breakfast. Mozzie called me at five o'clock in the morning to give me a progress report."

Peter chuckled. "Finally Mozzie has someone who likes to stay up through the night with him."

"Words can't describe how ecstatic he is. Pagna used some device which Mozzie described as looking like as an astrolabe to transport her equipment directly to the lab. Travis must have had quite a shock when he reported to work."

"Does she have her cover story straight?"

"I believe so. Pagna is much friendlier than Lavinia. She should have no problem fitting in." Neal flicked him a glance. "You can now safely retire your bodyguard responsibilities. Pagna showed me a device which she can use to connect with her equipment no matter where she is. It's a silver rectangle about the size of a playing card and a quarter inch thick. She can tell if a wormhole has opened within fifteen miles."

That was the best news Peter had heard all morning. With Pagna monitoring Arkham, a surprise attack would be much less likely.

"This morning I took Ch'uli back to Lavinia before classes. Lavinia and Ch'orri must miss her. I told her I'd bring her regular deliveries of June's cookies."

Peter suspected Ch'uli would make frequent return trips to visit him. Despite Neal's confident words, no one could rest easy as long as ymarite hadn't been purged from his system. But for now he'd keep those thoughts to himself.

They rounded a bend in the path and Neal stopped to scan the lake. A raft of ducks was paddling in the water close to the near shore. Peter focused on Neal instead, attempting to send a telepathic message to him. He picked something simple that Neal wouldn't think of normally—a frosty mug of beer. Neal had been able to project thoughts to him. Why couldn't he do the same? And why was it Peter only got distress calls? He wouldn't mind seeing an image of cookies. Perhaps if he focused harder . . .

Peter concentrated on the back of Neal's head. Instead of a mug of beer, he found himself wishing he had hair like that. Not helpful. Wait . . . What was that? For an instant, Neal flickered in front of his eyes, becoming translucent. Peter could have sworn he saw the ducks straight through him. Had that really happened? The sun was bright. Probably just the glare had caused the effect. But still . . . He blinked his eyes rapidly and continued to stare, but there was no repetition of the phenomenon.

El had reminded him to keep an eye out for anything unusual. What would she say to this? He reached out to touch Neal's arm.

Neal turned to look at him. "I know. Your bell's gone off. Lunch awaits." His smile faded as Peter tightened his grasp. "You okay?"

"Me? I'm fine. How about you?"

His brow furrowed as if he thought Peter was crazy, and maybe he was. Neal's arm felt completely normal.

"What's this about?" Neal asked.

"For a second you seemed to become translucent. Did you feel anything different? Any images flash through your mind?"

"I felt a chill," Neal admitted, "but it's windy by the lake."

"That's probably all it was," he agreed, wishing he really felt that way. "Let's go eat."

"Good idea. But if I turn into the invisible man again, let me know."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Raquel locked her suitcase and paused to scan the hotel room. Her work in Lyon was done. Soon she'd be on the train for Paris. She had another hour before she needed to leave for the train station. Plenty of time to call London.

"Status report?" Nigel's voice was brusque. She must have caught him at a busy time.

"Chad is taken care of," she said. "He won't trouble us anymore. I dispatched him to the cult in Moscow."

"Make sure he goes this time. You ordered him to Rome after the job in Lyon, and he disobeyed."

"There won't be any repetition of insubordination," she assured him.

"It shouldn't have happened in the first place. Does his zoog need to be replaced?"

"I don't think so. I interrogated Chad after he was spotted by Neal and Sara. His animosity runs deeper than I expected. Because of it, he's not so easily controlled."

"He may need to be eliminated. Azathoth's instructions are clear. No harm must be done to Neal. Still, Chad's proven his value. Thanks to him, we were alerted to Sara."

"When will you interview her?"

"She has a ten o'clock appointment. I intend to give her a warm welcome."

Raquel had experienced how charming Nigel could be. A provincial like Sara could easily fall under his spell.

"Azathoth informed me the procedure is almost ready," Nigel continued. "The preliminary tests are positive. Neal will be summoned shortly."

"And after that?"

"Unknown. For now, maintain your position in Paris."

When Raquel rang off, she made one final sweep of the room to verify nothing had been left. If Chad continued to pose issues, he might have to be sent to Tirelia. She'd like to be the one to escort him. She missed her home world.

* * *

 _Notes: Neal and Peter may think they're heading to Egypt in a few weeks but Azathoth has other plans. Meanwhile, Sara's dream job sounds like it could have disastrous consequences. This chapter has a few warning buoys of dangerous times ahead for Neal and his friends. Fortunately, a new character from Caffrey Conversation is packing their bags and will arrive in Arkham Files just in time to help out. You'll get a heads up about the person's identity in my next Caffrey Conversation story, The Musicians. I'll begin posting the next Arkham Files story, Time Crystals, in May._

 _January Schedule:  
January 23: Unpathed Waters, the 5th story in the Six-Crossed Knot series (All Souls Trilogy fandom). If you're curious to know what it's about, you can read about the story's background in the blog post I wrote this week.  
January 30: the start of The Musicians (Caffrey Conversation). This is the sequel to Harlequin's Shadow. _

_Before I sign off, the entire Caffrey Conversation crew joins me in wishing Penna a very HAPPY BIRTHDAY! We hope her year ahead is filled with fluffy good times and, of course, more stories. Penna has written a new blog post this week. It's called "Identifying with Neal Caffrey" and provides a fascinating take on both Neal and Penna's lives._

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
 _Chapter Visuals: The Lion's Lair board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


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